


Oil and Water

by Hel_in_NL



Series: Sins, Virtues, and the Disregarding of Them [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angelic forms, Apocalypse, BAMF Aziraphale (Good Omens), BAMF Crowley (Good Omens), Hastur - Freeform, M/M, Wing Grooming, Wing torture, adventure ahoy, angst but it's not forever my dudes, archangel gabriel (good omens) - Freeform, beelzebub/gabriel if you squint, here we go again, hurt! Aziraphale, lord beelzebub (good omens), no betas we die like occult forces, sequel to sloth in soho, shit happens, these tags are starting to get wild, uriel - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-03
Updated: 2019-07-16
Packaged: 2020-06-03 02:06:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 27,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19454128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hel_in_NL/pseuds/Hel_in_NL
Summary: Sequel to my other fic, Sloth in Soho. In which I started writing one thing and ended up somewhere else.Here comes The End!Everything will be Fine.





	1. The Garden

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [油和水](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20424827) by [amazingwoods](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amazingwoods/pseuds/amazingwoods)



> I haven't gotten it out of my system yet.

Aziraphale knew a calm before a storm when he saw it. The dreaming incident was a week past and things had been peaceful but he could feel something at the very edges of his halo trying to break in. The terse memo’s from Head Office had become downright chilly and lacked anything by way of new assignments, information on Uriel or Belphagor, or concern for his situation. They had even stopped dedicating the memo’s to ‘Principality Aziraphale’ in favor of ‘Ethereal Creature, Aziraphale.’

Crowley had snorted with laughter when he saw. He had gotten a similar letter from Beelzebub with the title of ‘Occult Beast, Crowley.’ Apparently both their head offices had begun to reframe them as something other than angelic or demonic. Crowley was fine with this. Aziraphale was...learning to be fine with it. Just as he was learning to be fine with not knowing if an attack could come at any moment.

Everything was fine.

It was easier to be fine with a lot of things, he found, when his strange source of moral support was now living a hop, skip, and a jump away. It was easy to feel safe, as well, when he got to close up his shop at the end of the day and spend the evening wrapped up in six thousand years of affection and inside jokes. He was quickly becoming addicted to the domestic feeling but he dared not say out loud, lest it be seen as inviting himself to move in. He had a home. His shop was his home. 

It was just that Crowley was quickly becoming home as well. 

Midway through shelving a book of Russian idioms he paused. The shop was sweltering in the unseasonable heat. It was late October, nearly Hallow’s Eve, and the temperature reflected more of a mid August peak. He didn’t have air conditioning, as he feared the fluctuations in temperature would damage some of his older volumes, yet he was insisting on wearing a three piece suit. He could never keep shop in anything less.

He pushed the book into it allotted spot gently, mind wandering. His suit was soaked with sweat and the air was stagnant. He hadn’t seen a customer all day and, really, it was quite nice outside. Crowley had been working on his landscaping and had mentioned something just that morning about a wading pool in the back garden….

Oh dear. He was going to pip off, wasn’t he? 

He was. The thought had taken hold and he knew working was going to become quite impossible. To his credit, he did remember to flip the sign in the window to ‘Closed’ for once. A moment was spared to grab a book for some light afternoon reading and a dusty bottle of brandy from under the counter then he was off. 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The front garden was as English as the Queen. Roses and ferns, a brick path, and wrought iron gate and fence. It was meticulous, well ordered, and would probably be the envy of everyone in a five kilometer radius given a bit more time. It was also distinctly not Crowley. English roses were not his style, nor were demur ferns that quaked under the slightest breeze. Aziraphale knew this was a mask. Something to keep those passing by on the street staring but never truly questioning. 

Crowley existed in the space between the front door and the high, back garden wall. 

Aziraphale bypassed the house completely, instead following the path to the back gardens. Crowleys ‘project’ now that he was a free agent. Aziraphale had only ever gotten glimpses, given the evening hours he tended to show up during. Usually he’d just get a quick look through the kitchen window before he was pulled into the living room and spent the rest of the night debating, relaxing, or straight up snogging his demon. 

He hoped that his midday intrusion wouldn’t be minded. Logically, he knew it wouldn’t. Crowley always seemed pleased when he was the one to drop by unexpectedly and not the other way around. Aziraphale was sure that it excited the demon for some reason so he did it rarely, to keep up the surprise. 

The back garden was breathtaking, Aziraphale quickly realized. Either the tropical plants that occupied the space were flourishing in the unseasonable heat or Crowley’s threats had motivated them to stand tall and verdant even outside their natural climate. They didn’t tremble as he passed so the angel supposed the worst of the verbal abuse was done for the day. 

The concrete slab of the patio showed recent signs of use. First, there was the deck chair which still had a black, damp towel slung across it. Next to it was a basket filled nearly to the brim with glossy, black feathers. Dear Crowley had been grooming himself and he had missed it, he realized ruefully. He would have liked to seen that, Crowley sitting out in the sun shine, drying off after taking a small swim in the wading pool that he miracled into existence, and plucking crooked or split feathers.

He didn’t get much of a chance to pout too much about it. A slow, slinking movement caught his attention from the corner of his eye, nearly frightening the goodness out of him. There, on a decidedly flat rock situated near the new pool was the great black and red snake, stretched out luxuriously with his wings still out, giving him the appearance of a legless dragon. Yellow, unblinking eyes were watching him with barely contained mirth.

“Really now, dear!” Aziraphael pulled at his too hot clothing in an attempt at looking like he hasn’t been frightened witless. “Is there any need for you to lurk?!”

“Lurk?” The great snake hissed, never raising his head from the head of the sun heated rock. “I’m eight feet long and ssssitting out on a great bleedin’ rock in the ssssun. Would I also be lurking if I ssstrode down the ssstreet in rainbowsss and sssequinssss?” 

A smile pulled at his lips. “It depends on the time of year, I’m afraid. From June to July you may be able to lurk dressed just so.”

His snake chuffed and hissed in amusement before yawning, exposing fangs the size of daggers to the sunshine. His wings stretched out skyward, ruffling a little, before they settled down with the rest of him. “Not many people catching up on their reading today?” He asked curiously as he began to uncoil. 

Aziraphale could only shake his head. “I hadn’t seen anyone all day and...and the weather is quite lovely.”

“You’re going to have a heat ssstroke,” the snake hummed and reached out to poke the angels shoulder with the tip of his tail. “You’ve got pit sssstainssss.”

“I do not!” Aziraphale blustered in embarrassment, checking himself just in case. “We can’t die from heat stroke!” 

“No but it ssstill ssssucksss.” Another lazy yawn and the snake stretched his body out straight, the wings shrinking back with his scales. A moment later Crowley smiled at him, brushing red hair away from his forehead. “You need a sssummer -ahem- summer wardrobe.”

The angel cringed, memories of the last time they had gone clothing shopping flooding back to him. It had been the 80’s. In a strange twist, Crowley had dressed in an awful white suit, with awful shoulder pads, and an equally awful red shirt. He had called it his ‘power look’ and ‘all the rage in America’. They had gotten as far as a suit fitting before Aziraphale had decided “No. Not this. Not today. Not ever.” and bolted out before he made an utter fool of himself.

“I’ll stick to what I have, thank you.” Nonetheless, he began to remove his coat. That deck chair was unused and beginning to look quite inviting. 

“I have a pretty white dress somewhere,” Crowley cooly informed him as he rolled around on his large rock, attempting to summon the energy to rise from the spot. “Hasn’t been used in years. Since I did that hitchhiking thing in America and scared the tar out of all of those perverts.”

Aziraphale knew the stories and offered a mild glare in Crowley’s direction. He couldn’t really chastise him, though. It had been an Arrangement thing, after all. Aziraphale was to ensure the lonely stayed faithful to who they loved, Crowley to sow lust and fear. The latter had lost the toss and took full advantage of regional ghost stories. 

“Ah. I think I’ll pass,” the angel declined him with a graceful smile as he rid himself of his waist coat. “I’ve never quite gotten into changing my appearance in the same way you have.”

“Hm. Well, not like you need to change anything to fit in a dress,” the demon was smirking, looking him over with obvious appraisal. Aziraphale nearly sputtered at the lechery in that gaze. Little devil.

Oh, how he loved him!

Crowley finally slid from his rock. “Alright. Wings out.” 

Aziraphale blinked dumbly for a moment as the words found purchase. “What? No!”

Crowley miracled in a brand new, spa white towel to replace the dark one on the chair. “Come now, Angel. A little sun will do the primaries good...and I’ve seen how you keep them. You never get the back right.”

“Crowley,” now he was the one hissing, “we are outside.”

“...yes? That garden wall is high and the foliage thick.” There was no small amount of pride in the demon’s voice. “You won’t be seen. Strip all the way, if you want. Soak in the pool. Enjoy it.” 

“Foul tempter,” Aziraphale meant to grump at him but instead it came out so affectionate and loving that he might as well have said ‘Alright then.’ 

It didn’t go unnoticed by either of them that the angel began undressing without further protest and only stopped when he got to his underthings.

He decided not to take a dip in the small pool, instead contenting himself by letting his wings spread wide behind him as he settled back in the deck chair. The book he had taken with him was promptly settled on to his lap. “I brought brandy,” he informed the demon as he got comfortable. 

“I saw,” Crowley murmured as he circled around him. He clicked his tongue and began his work, fingers combing deftly through his feathers, pulling and straightening. Soon white feathers were being layered on top of the black that occupied the basket and Aziraphale was turning into a puddle of mush. 

It was useless for him to try and read. Crowley was sinfully good at this. Why was he so good at this? Oh Lord if wing parlours were a thing he’d certainly have the top rated one. Except then he’d have his hands in other wings and that just didn’t sit well with him. 

He groaned and Crowley laughed, soft and wicked. He knew what he was doing. the wonderful, evil man. If he knew where his legs were and how to operate them he’d have turned to pull him into an irritated, loving kiss. Instead he stayed still and let the minutes tick by in perfection.

Then there was a soft gasp and particularly hard yank as a feather was plucked, forcing a yelp out of him . “Crowley!” He reprimanded and turned to give him a piece of his mind for the rough treatment. Only Crowley was already there and meeting his lips with a frantic passion that was not at all suited for a hot day.

It left the angel dizzy and breathless, all pain forgotten. “What was that for?” He murmured against the other man’s lips with no small amount of awe. 

“Just because,” was the answer, followed by another brief kiss. “Wings are better than I thought. Since you won’t get in the pool why don’t you go give yourself a good soak in the tub? We can go out to dinner. The Ritz if you want.”

Aziraphale didn’t even attempt to hold back the brilliant smile he shot Crowley’s way. “Really? Well...I suppose it’s been a few weeks. Oh, why not!” He was on his feet in an instant gathering his coat and things with delight. “Just a quick bath, then! I’ll be back in a tick!”

He’d have to miracle the sweat from his clothing and perhaps a nicer bow tie. Oh! And better shoes! He dashed inside, all smiles and happiness, overflowing with love and excitement.

They’d done the Ritz many times...but being asked to go there by Crowley after their change in relationship status felt momentous, somehow. Courtship! A date! 

Oh! Perhaps he should just summon his Sunday best!

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Crowley smiled fondly as his angel dashed away as if he were being carried on a rainbow. Food was the great motivator and one that he’d happily take advantage of if he needed a distraction. He needed one right now. 

He let his smile drop to something more fretful. Blast. He hadn’t nearly enough time with his angels wings, to appreciate them and make them look so glorious that all other feathered beast would look on dumbstruck awe. It couldn’t be helped, though. There were pressing matters at hand. 

Flicking back the towel on the chair he pulled out the item he had quickly hidden as they kissed. He stroked it carefully, fearfully. 

Gray as a storm cloud or a foggy day. It was new, freshly grown in and not prepared for removal at all but the sight of it nestled amongst his angels feathers had offended him so much that he pulled it at once. A grey feather did not belong in an angels wing. It certainly didn’t belong in Aziraphale’s wing. Not his angel. Not his good and sweet angel. A little bit of a bastard, yes, but endearingly so! 

A cold dread was threatening to grasp him. The dreams of the previous week were still fresh in his mind but none were quite as vivid as Aziraphale dissolving into pure hedonism in that blasted bathtub, content to remain there wrapped up some remnant of Crowley’s own sloth for all eternity. Uriel and Belphagor had started it but it would have been his own fault if...if….

The grey feather ignited and burned to ash between his fingers. Beside him the black and white ones did the same.

He’d take his angel out, wine and dine him, then listen to him talk about all manner of things. They’d come back and he’d put his charms to work to give him the night of his life. In the morning he’d suggest a walk or drive and, perhaps, the route could take them by St. Pauls or Westminster. Aziraphale would want to pop in, as he almost always did, and Crowley would wait outside. Then he’d come out all refreshed and glittering white and they could go back to whatever.

Crowley nodded to himself. It was a plan. He could make this happen and the angel needn’t fret one bit over grey feathers. 

Everything was fine.


	2. It was a good plan in theory

“-and there I was, snuggled up tight in the yurt of my host, when in comes Gabriel looking quite cross.” Aziraphale paused to pop another delectable bite of cheesecake in his mouth before continuing. “I was worried I had failed in some assignment when he started off about how there was a poor girl in Nazareth having a complete break down after he delivered her a message from on high.He simply wasn’t sure how to handle it.”   
  
“You don’t say,” Crowley hummed faintly and took another sip of wine.    
  
“Well, I was confused of course. Why was Gabriel delivering any messages? It was quite outside his wheelhouse. So I pressed him for information and that’s when the whole plan came out.” Aziraphale dabbed at his lips with a napkin primly. He waited for Crowley to prompt him onwards only to be met with silence. The demons dark glasses were pointed his direction but Aziraphale could tell through years of practice that he was being looked through. Crowley was out to lunch.    
  
The angel frowned. How unusual. Crowley would often stay quiet as he talked on and on (and on) but would always pick up when there was a pause. 

“...I dare say I’d be beside myself too if I learned that I was to give birth to a litter of puppies on a blood moon,” he tested to be sure. Nothing. Not even a shift in the mans slouched posture. 

The angel raised his hand to summon a server for the bill, still eyeing the demon over. He had been off the whole evening, he realized. Far more polite than usual, not as snappy, nearly saccharine in his sweetness. When they had dressed up Crowley had put on his best, just as Aziraphale had, without ever being asked. 

He had even held the passenger door open on the Bentley like a courtly gentleman both on departure and arrival to the Ritz. 

Perhaps this was what dating Crowley was like or maybe that’s how Crowley wanted it to be. It was a novel experience and not at all unpleasant so Aziraphale had merely passed it off. They would be back to the old standard in no time. 

Except now it was becoming increasingly apparent that something else was happening and, for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out what. 

He stayed quiet until their server arrived with the cheque. It’s appearance seemed to shake Crowley from his reverie and he sat up a bit more, looking about. “I’ll take care of it,” he offered and reached for his wallet. Aziraphale said nothing, only watching how the man shifted and glanced around anxiously as he paid, tipping nearly double the amount of the actual bill. 

Crowley caught onto the silence more quickly than Aziraphale had. “You alright?” He asked as he rose to his feet.    
  
Aziraphale took a moment to eye him up and down again. “...fine,” he answered and stood as well, heading for the door just ahead of him. Behind him he could hear the demon hiss in annoyance yet the angel had a feeling it was more self directed than outwardly so. 

Long legs made it easy for him to catch up and hold the door open. “Okay. Listen. I’m...fuck. I’m fucked, aren’t I?” Aziraphale raised a silvery eyebrow in confusion. He wasn’t mad, just a little put off. 

“I wouldn’t say that, my dear,” he reassured coolly. “I’ve just noticed you’ve been elsewhere. I apologize it took me so long.”   
  
Crowley winced as if in pain. “Don’t apolog-”

“What is wrong, dear?” Aziraphale cut him off before he could redirect blame back to himself. “You don’t have to say but if I can help I will. I think I’ve proven my worth.”    
  
It was hard to describe the series emotions that passed over the mans bespectacled face. First indignation, then something like panic or fretfulness, fear, guilt...and finally Crowley, professional demon. “You have. Just...home office, Hell-y things. Nasty stuff. Kinda sickly.”   
  
Aziraphale decided to play along. He’d get more information this way, he reasoned. “I didn’t know they had been in contact! Why didn’t you say so earlier?”   
  
“Because I turned it down,” he answered with the smoothness he used when he was attempting to pull a con. Such tactics worked very well on mortals. Not so much on angels. “Really, you don’t wanna know the details. It’ll turn you inside out.”   
  
“Literally or figuratively?” He asked to give himself a moment more to consider his next move. He wasn’t especially good at manipulation (though Crowley had once laughed in his face when he said so) and manipulating a demon into giving anything up once they were dead set on not being untruthful was probably outside his skill set. 

He knew Crowley intimately, though. He hoped this made things easier.

“Probably both!” Crowley seized on the suggestion then opened the Bentleys door with a flourish and a small bow. “Best not to ask about it further. No need to get twisted up on it. If your side comes to you about it we’ll see then.”   
  
“My side?” Aziraphale mused with intentional softness as he slid into his seat. “I thought it was Our Side?”    
  
The facial journey his dear, sweet infernal man went on then was a sight to behold. Joy, guilt, love, guilt, frustration, guilt, guilt, guilt. Oh dear. It was that bad, was it? Aziraphales stomach twisted as worry began to bubble up.    
  
The door was all but slammed and the demon threw himself into the driver’s seat. “...our side,” he finally muttered as he turned the ignition. “Our side.”    
  
Then he was silent again, openly brooding now that he had been gently called out. Aziraphale allowed it, if only because he’d grown quite fond of this Queen song that was threatening to tear his ear drums apart. 

There’d be more time to talk. 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

They didn’t. Not immediately after arriving at Crowley’s place, anyways. The demon had declared that they both needed copious, unholy, unheard of amounts of booze and Aziraphale had humored him. A stiff drink could loosen the tongue, after all!    
  
Except now he was laying quite ungracefully across the couch and feeling like he may have loosened his own tongue as well. Oops. “I just...I just don’t get it, my darling!” He moaned suddenly, over the skipping of the record that Crowley was too knackered to get up and fix. “I went into your mind and you! You were in mine! Saved me from quite a Fall! And now you won’t even tell me what’s wrong! Is it me? Did I do something?”    
  
The outburst jolted Crowley from his haze. “Whaaaaat? No! No, no, no, no!” He slid from the armchair, crawled across the floor to the couch, and took up the angels hand. “No no no,” he continued as he fluttered little kisses across his palm. “Love you. Perfect. Sssstunning. No, no, no.”   
  
Aziraphales free hand reached to stroke fiery red hair. “Then what is it? Don’t lie. Please? Please, my love, my darling, my dear? Tell me?”   
  
“Can’t,” murmured against his palm followed by another kiss. “It’ll be all fixed by the afternoon. Don’t fret. I’ve got it figured out.” Another kiss, just above his pulse point.   
  
“You have what figured out?” He groaned softly, watching him through drink heavy eyes. “Are you hurting? Is someone hurting you? Belphagor? Uriel? Satan himself?”

“Shh, shh, shh.” Crowley shifted, kissing higher, nearer his elbow. “Don’t fret.”   
  
Aziraphale had a mind to tell him that telling someone to not worry was the best way to make them worry. He did not. Too drunk. Too fascinated by Crowley’s slow progress up his arm. “But you’re not going to be hurt?”   
  
Crowley gave a nod which could have meant anything and kissed his shoulder. “Ssss’okay. It’s going to be okay. I’ll make it all better.”    
  
Make what better? He couldn’t figure it out. Crowley’s lips found a nice spot just above his shirt collar and for a moment he didn’t think of anything but the softness of them and then skipping beat of his own heart. 

It was over too soon. Crowley didn’t kiss again. Instead settling his face there and wrapping an arm around the angels midsection, a fist tightening in Aziraphale’s jacket. There was a tremble in his slight frame that it took Aziraphales drunken mind a stupidly long time to realize was sign of distress.    
  
“Crowley-?” He started, concern dripping from him like honey. The demon was ahead of him, though.    
  
“Please. Don’t. It’s awful, y’know. Ssssssssso fast. The ssspeed. The wings do nothing. And the taste! It takes centuries t’go away-” his voice was muffled against him, every syllable vibrating in his throat. “Like rotten eggs. The transssformation will be bad too. It hurtsss but it’s even more frightening. I told y’sssso.”   
  
Aziraphale was having trouble parsing out what he was being told. They had already talked about the Fall. Was that what had been bothering him all evening?    
  
“You’ll forget love. Took me forever to catch up again. Maybe I’m the only one. For you, though? It’ll burn and you’ll be hollowed out. There are some that Fell that never recovered. Sssstill boiling away in the sssulfur, catatonic with bouts of ssscreaming. I’d sssstay with you. I’ll alwaysss sssstay. No matter what.”

Aziraphale laughed softly as it clicked. He turned to kiss his tattoo gently, earning a shuddering breath. “My dear. I’m not Falling. You put a stop to that. I’ll never be so careless again.” 

“Y’feathersss,” was spoken softly into his shoulder. Crowley held on tighter.    
  
Feathers? In a moment he remembered: the yank he felt in the afternoon. The kiss that followed. 

Something began to squirm in his chest like a parasite. “What about my feathers?” He suddenly felt sober without putting any effort into being so. They had been as white as ever. Frumpy, maybe, but white.

“Was grey. It was grey. Just one but it was grey.” It was like a confession, something that had been weighing the poor man down all evening. Driving him to distraction. 

Oh his dearest one! Had all this been for his sake? A deception to keep him in the dark about his own immortal soul. It must have been tearing his sweet demon apart. A fresh wave of unadulterated love poured directly from him into the man who was buried in the crook of his neck. 

“Crowley, my dear,” he said with an evenness he didn’t feel. A grey feather certainly was alarming...but perhaps an anomaly? “Let us go upstairs.”   
  
“Hm?” The man drew back, searching his face with yellow that encompassed the totality of his eyes. Beautiful. 

Aziraphale didn’t need to force the tender, calm smile he offered to him. “Check my wings again, would you?”   
  
There was a pause.   
  
“Gladly.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale is a clever clogs.


	3. Take me to Church

For not the first time that week Aziraphale found himself face down in the pillows of Crowley’s bed. It was hard to fight off a Pavlovian reaction and not immediately squirm in invitation, a sure way to make the man circling behind him abandon all plans and just dive in. Thank goodness he left his trousers on. Mixed signals were something neither of them needed at the moment. 

His wings occupied almost all the space in the room when spread out like this. He could feel the tip of his feathers brushing the walls and, for a moment, he worried about dislodging some decoration before he recalled that the walls here were frightfully bare. 

Crowley had sobered up and his hands were now steadily combing through his wings, finishing a job he left incomplete earlier in the afternoon. A small puff of a moan escaped the angel despite himself as nails gently carded over a spot close to his shoulder blades. Oh dear sweet goodness, he’d need to have this done more often and under  _ vastly _ different circumstances.    
  
“Hard to work when you make noises like that, angel,” Crowley murmured from somewhere to his left, voice bearing the mark of strained concentration. “Don’t be naughty about this.”   
  
“I’m never naughty,” Aziraphale breathed into the pillows, unable to put any conviction into the statement.    
  
Crowley only snorted and continued his work. 

Several minutes passed in relative silence, only punctuated by small gasps and poorly suppressed groans. Best not distract his demon any more than he could help. They both needed the assurance.    
  
Tertials gave way to secondaries. Secondaries to primaries. Crowley hummed in satisfaction, some of the tension that had been hanging in the air fading. Fingers began to work at the underside, where new fledges typically came in. All was well. Everything was fine.    
  
Then it wasn’t, if the sudden extremely displeased hiss that broke the relative silence was anything to go by. “What is it?” Aziraphale’s head shot up at once from the pillow, face red from the heat that had built there. “What did you find?”   
  
“Three. Just barely starting to come in.” Fingers stroked them carefully, testing their purchase and finding them firmly rooted. “Hidden under the tertiaries closer to your back. Would have taken forever to spot them.”    
  
Aziraphales heart sank. “Be a dear and free one?” He asked quietly, a slight tremble in his voice.    
  


He didn’t see the demons nod as much as he felt it. There was a small pull, testing again. “Deep breath.” The angel obeyed only to whimper anyways when it was pulled free with a steady hand.    
  
He folded his wings back into the ethereal plane and sat up, back against the headboard. Once situated and mentally prepared he held out his hand, palm up and looked up expectantly at his beautiful demon. It was placed there gently, as if Crowley were presenting him with a sacred sword of some weight than a small, downy feather.    
  
It was grey as gun metal. Not...ugly, per se, but strange and unexpected. He ran a finger along the vane thoughtfully. “...Falling isn’t a gradual thing, yes?”    
  
Crowley sat on the edge of the bed, watching him intently, eyes sporting no white sclera. Only yellow. “The first Fall wasn’t. That was before all the New Testament, though. You know, ask and be forgiven and all that.”   
  
“Have you ever asked?” Aziraphale questioned softly, still entranced by the soft gray.    
  
“No. Why would I? I’m not proud of being a demon but I  _ am _ proud of who I am. The benefits have outweighed the drawbacks for thousands of years now.” He shimmied up the bed with a grunt, taking a spot next to him. “No worries for my soul because it’s not there. Immortality. Free reign on earth for the most part. Lots of vice. Not to mention the second Fall was well worth the first.”

“Second Fall?” Aziraphale tore his eyes away from the feather to look at his demon in alarm. 

He was met with a small smile and pointed look.  _ Oh. _ His heart skipped a beat, face flushing. _ Ooooh _ . “Charmer,” he muttered, turning back to the feather.    
  
“I try.” There was a small stretch of silence during which Crowley inched closer and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. Aziraphale sank into him almost immediately. “...years ago I would have been thrilled by all this. Proud even. Not for the commendation I’d receive at Felling you or anything but...well...because we’d be on the same side, wouldn’t we? I had enough pull in the office that I’m sure I could have kept you next to me. We’d be partners. We’d be lovers if I played my cards right.” 

“And now?” His throat was tight. His chest was tight. His soul was tight.    
  
“Well, you wouldn’t be my angel anymore if you did a nose dive,” Crowley mused, letting his head fall back to the head board with a soft thump. “In fact, I’m pretty sure it would destroy you. I wasn’t exaggerating down stairs. There are Fallen that have never come out of that pain. They’ll sit in depths of Hell until the very end of time, all glassy eyed and miserable. Fire all around them but none of their own.”    
  
“That’s...very poetic,” Aziraphale choked out the words. Under different circumstances he would have applauded him but given the nature of the discussion….   
  
“That was for you. Don’t let it go to your head,” Crowley huffed a little, giving him a nudge. “Even if you were fine? My lot know what we pulled. They couldn’t kill me with holy water but this brand new demon? This freshly fallen angel? They’d probably call Gabriel himself. You didn’t hear the way he spoke to you angel, when I was wearing you. He’d trot down to Hell and fill up an Olympic sized swimming pool with Holy water to see you go under, I’m sure.”   
  
Aziraphale shrank against him. It was too much. He wanted to be sick with despair. The truth was brutal but he knew it to be just so. Crowley was many things but he always had difficulty lying to him, if the evening mishaps were any indication. “...perhaps...I should make some plans, then. Uhm. Maybe...maybe begin to consider-” He didn’t even know how to finish. How was one to plan for something like this?   
  
“Angel.” The word was firm and loving. Crowley shifted away from him only to hold him by the shoulders. “Aziraphale. You’re the most stubborn bloody man I know. Among demons you’re a terror if only because I kind of painted you that way in my reports. In heaven you’re a pariah because of who you are. I  _ guarantee _ you there’s some angel flitting about up there wishing they could be like you. You can’t give up now. Not after everything. Not after the world almost ended and We are here on Our Side.”    
  
Be still his beating heart. Crowley in a monologue was certainly a sight to behold. Crowley in a rousing, love fuelled pep talk was  _ breathtaking.  _

Aziraphale swallowed thickly and blinked back tears, nodding along with him. “What...what was your plan before I figured you out? You said you’d have it all fixed by tomorrow.”

“Take you to church.”   
  
He laughed despite himself. “Were you going to have me do a confessional? I don’t think that works for angels, dear.”   
  
Crowley shrugged. “You always ask for a blessing if clergy is in. To be polite.”   
  
Aziraphale really did smile at that. “I don’t believe I’ve mentioned that in well over two hundred years, darling.”    
  
The demon cleared his throat and looked away. “I do listen, you know.”    
  
With a soft laugh he allowed himself to fall into the man again, kissing the corner of his mouth. “I know. What would you have done if it didn’t work?”   
  
“I don’t know. Begged a distant and unknowable God for mercy?” He ventured, wrapping his arms around him. “Removed myself from you just in case it’s me doing it?”

  
“Don’t be silly,” Aziraphale nearly snapped and kissed him again, more firmly. “Love is no sin.”   
  
“Demons are, though,” Crowley noted. “When you love someone you let them go, right?”    
  
“Bollocks.”   
  
“Ooooh you’re definitely going to have another gray one now,” Crowley hissed but he was grinning, eyes sparkling with barely contained delight. 

Aziraphale kissed him again, utterly charmed and needing to make his next point clear. “If you leave because you think it’ll help you’ll be very,  _ very _ wrong. I swear, my dear, if I find you gone without a word my heartbreak will be unending. I’ll Fall out of sheer _ spite. _ ” 

“...there would have been a note. Or I would have shagged around or killed someone. Something to make it softer,” Crowley murmured but his gaze stayed trained on him, mesmerized. “You really are a bastard, you know that, right?”

Aziraphale smiled and pressed a lingering, hot kiss to him. “And you are selfless.”

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

That the next day was a Sunday was dreadfully good spot of luck. Lot’s of Clergy around before noon on a Sunday. 

Luckily, there were still some puttering about when they arrived well past one in the afternoon. Loving words had given away to loving actions and time had well and truly escaped the both of them. It would have been funny if it weren’t for the circumstances. 

Crowley paced the sidewalk and wished that he still smoked. He thought he looked quite fetching with a cigarette dangling from his lips, like a character for an American action movie. For a while the general populace seemed to agree, then cancer was connected to not only inhaling first hand but second hand as well and everything went downhill. He couldn’t catch such a disease but the image he projected was dirtier so he had given it up. 

He supposed that Aziraphale commenting on how awful he smelled was another factor but he didn’t want to own up to that. 

Instead he played on his phone, a habit that looked decidedly less cool than he’d have liked, and kept glancing at the church expectantly. Nothing yet. How long did it take to do a blessing, anyways? He should have asked. 

Back to his phone. Perhaps a slot machine app would keep him occupied. He could try to figure out if he could manipulate the odds over the wireless and win some easy, totally unneeded cash then give it to his angel to stuff in the donation box.    
  
_ “Hullo Crawley,” _ was whispered directly in his ear like a breeze from a dumpster fire. He gagged as the stench hit him and took a step back in surprise.    
  
“Belphagor.” He nearly hissed the name, felt fangs and a forked tongue threaten to surge forth...but there were humans about. Damn it all. “How’s your contract? Expired?”   
  
“Hm. I’m currently operating as something of a...free agent,” it hummed and walked to the edge of the church fence. Its human form had all the class and style of a cliche used car salesman, greasy and repugnant, dressed in an awful mustard yellow that reminded Crowley entirely too much of sulfur.    
  
“Free agent? Did I start a trend?” He sniped, glancing towards the church. If Belphagor was here did that mean…? 

“No. I was on the front lines during the rebellion, though. At the right hand of the Master. That earns me some leeway.” It flashed a smile full of yellowed, sharp teeth. “I wasn’t a coward, trying to create a whole new star system to hide out in when things got  _ hard.”  _

Crowley bristled and really did hiss at that. “Is Uriel with you?”   
  
“Urine is occupied.” It glanced to the church. “Don’t worry too much. They wouldn’t dare do anything in the sight of the Almighty. They wish to return after all is said and done.”   
  
Crowley didn’t have the presence of mind to snap a come back at the demon. He already had a hand on the iron gate of the fence, ready to brave whatever burn- 

A hand was slammed down on his shoulder with such force he buckled. “Now, now. You’re going to go on consecrated ground? Love really makes a fool of all of us, doesn’t it?” It sighed as if it could relate. Crowley would have to pick that little nugget apart later.

“If you don’t let me go I’ll drag you in with me,” he hissed again, glaring at It over the top of his glasses. “I’ve been out in the world a lot more than you. I’m Holy water immune. I’ll be fine. You won’t.”    
  
Belphagor considered him a moment with eyes the color stagnate lakes. “...it’s a bluff, isn’t it. All of it. I don’t know how you did it but you’re no better than the rest of us. I bet I could lob a ball of Hell Fire directly at your pet angel and he’d go up  _ screaming.  _ I wonder whose name would be on lips? God? Yours? _ ” _   
  
Crowley kept his face stony, his glare razor sharp. Something must have shown in his eyes because a slow, yellow toothed smile spread across the other demons fat, stupid face. 

“Ooooh. How interesting. How delicious.” It eyed the church again...and released him. “How absolutely fantastic. Run along. Show me just how strong you are, Crawley.”    
  
He didn’t hesitate. Couldn’t hesitate. He turned on his heel, threw open the gate with confidence, and did what he did best.

Faked it until he made it.    
  
It burned like hell, and he should know. In the 40’s he had hopped and skipped through, never settling too long in one spot. When he crossed into heaven to drag Gabriel out by the ear he had done the same and found it to be like walking on glass. The damage had only recently healed.    
  
This time each step was sure. No hint of pain. No grunts or gasps. Just one foot after another. Ignore the fire spreading through his heels and up his calves. Ignore the ringing in his ears.    
  
Belphagor laughed. “Good work! If only you had balls like that back in the war!”

  
Crowley bit back a hiss...and began to run to the door. Fuck this. Fuck it all! There was no time to show off!   
  
He needed to get Aziraphale.    


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was pretty happy with this one. I hope you are as well.


	4. Angel of the Western Gate

Churches, temples, synagogues, and other such places had held a special place in Aziraphale’s heart ever since their invention. Not all of them called on Her but he could appreciate the spirit and adore the love put into such places. Love was what he felt now. All around him, filling his lungs and lifting his spirit. Grey feathers and damnation were but a whisper in his mind.    
  
It was quiet, which suited Aziraphale just fine. He loved humans but running into them while in the midst of worship was always a bit conflicting. So many people praying for salvation or wishing for good fortune and favor. It was quite overwhelming to an angel. 

As he approached the altar he became aware of movement. Ah. The priest no doubt. Bustling around, preparing sermons. Good, good. He wouldn’t need to keep Crowley waiting too long. “Hullo?” He called, clasping his hands in front of him and assuming an entirely humble air.    
  
The sound of footsteps approaching, unhurried. 

Then there They were.

“Hello Aziraphale,” Uriel greeted him coldly. He nearly sighed in dismay. Ah. This then. 

“Hello Uriel.” He looked about, looking for what he wasn’t sure. An attack? Oh dear, he hadn’t actually fought in years. No, they surely wouldn’t. Not on holy ground. “Has Gabriel been in touch yet? I believe he may like to have a word.”   
  
“Do not attempt to disregard me, Aziraphale,” they rounded the pulpit, maintaining eye contact all the while. “I have come to thank you.”   
  
He hadn’t been expecting that. “Pardon?”   
  
“I have come to thank you, Guardian of the Eastern Gate,” Uriel inclined their head slightly. “I have done much thinking over the past week. Much of it was about you and your...project.” 

He decided it was best to let that pass. Project. Really. “I must ask, where has your thinking led you, Guardian of the Western Gate?” Best to be polite. He was good at polite. 

There was a ghost of a smile at the corner of their lips. “At first, I thought my mission was to bring you home, Aziraphale. See the demon Crowley destroyed and redeem one of our own. Then Belphagor suggested that if you were to Fall I would be absolved of the duty I put upon myself. Except that didn’t work either, did it?”   
  
He felt his wings twitch in the ethereal plane. They didn’t know about the grey feathers. Best keep that to himself, just in case it was exploited. Oh dear, he really was beginning to think a bit like Crowley, wasn’t he?

“No. It didn’t.” He stayed rooted in place, watching them with a wary eye as they continued to meander about. 

“Yet, even in the face of such failures, I feel my work is not done. I would usually accept my shortcomings and return to Heaven. I would accept them as part of the ineffable plan.” They stopped, leveling him with a look he couldn’t quite place. “However, if I am not satisfied dows that not mean there is still more to be done? You defied the Great Plan in the name of the ineffable one because you felt that was your duty, in order to protect the world. How did you feel after?”   
  
Aziraphale didn’t like where this conversation but his curiosity was getting the better of him...as was his compassion. Uriel was dealing with something, it seemed. Something they had never had to grapple with before. He just wasn’t sure what it was yet. They needed help. A kind ear. 

He smiled. “It was...relieving. A thousand things I was always too afraid to question or confront made sense all at once. It felt like I had truly done my part, as small as it was.”    
  
Uriel continued to regard him in a calculating manner. “I see. Then I regret to inform you that I have come to the conclusion that this sense of duty I have has become louder. I also thank you. I know what I must do. I know my part in the ineffable.”   
  
Aziraphale cocked his head slightly, truly drawn in by their train of thought. Perhaps Uriel was as he was: not quite sure of where they fit. Not comfortable in heaven. Not comfortable except in the places they chose for themselves. “And what part is that, my dear?” 

Uriel smiled peacefully, light filling their intensely dark eyes. Aziraphale found himself smiling back. This was good. This was confidence and loving intention. This was angelic purpose.    
  
“I am to destroy the world.”   
  
Oh.

That was quite the opposite of good. 

“...come again?”   
  
“I am to destroy the world, Aziraphale. That is what my purpose is saying to me.” They spread their wings, all four of them, the eyes that lined them all glaring down on him. They were radiant and terrible as a dessert dawn.    
  
Aziraphale recoiled. He knew the sight well yet seeing it here, in his corporeal form, in the realm of man was frankly uncalled for. “Put those away!” He reprimanded before he could reconsider himself. “You’ll burn the eyes out of any human that comes in here!”   
  
“Or any demon.” His heart stopped in his chest. “Humans. Demons. They are both the same. Both are cruel beyond measure. Both undeserving. I will do my part and smite all of them as efficiently and expediently as possible. That is my part in the plan.”   
  
“You...you don’t...you don’t KNOW that!” He was blustering and distracted. Crowley would walk across holy ground if he knew he was in trouble. He fancied he could feel him already crossing over, heading to the door. “Put back on your corporeal form! Please!”   
  
They weren’t listening. Even through the holy brightness Aziraphael could see when they drew their sword. Oh. Right. They had been given one as well. Oh dear. “I will not start here. I have a plan to make it swift and merciful for all.”   
  
“How kind.” He needed them to leave.They were scorching the pews already! How would Crowley or any human react? Burned from the inside out? Turned into a pillar of salt? “Well, best be on your way! World won’t end itself now, will it?”   
  
They didn’t move. “Your snake is slithering this way.” They flew up a few feet, gazing through a stained window with their many eyes. “I shall stay a moment longer. There is no need for you to be caught in this, ethereal creature Aziraphale.”   
  
If they intended to taunt him it worked. He found himself overcome by righteousness as he realized two things. One, they were going to kill his dear Crowley to spite him under the guise of saving him. That just couldn’t be allowed.    
  
The second realization stoked his ire further.    
  
_ Ethereal Creature Aziraphale. They were still getting memo’s.  _ **_Gabriel had known where they were all along._ **

There was a latch being trifled with. Uriel spread their wings further. Oh no. No, no, no-!    
  
Aziraphale  _ lunged. _

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

For a moment Crowley couldn’t see. He was quite certain that hadn’t happened the last time he’d entered a church. Hell, it hadn’t even happened when he entered heaven. The light was searing but without heat, touching a place deep down inside him. 

Ah fuck. This was holy fire and he’d walked right on in to it. Great. Time to kiss his arse goodbye. At least he got to spend a few weeks as a free being. At least he got to spend a week loving and being loved by his angel.    
  
He desperately hoped this wasn’t Aziraphale’s fire. The dramatic irony would have been too much to bare. Well, not for him. He was going to be dead. But his angel...oh his sweet angel….

Then, as if someone flipped a light switch, it was gone. No burning except for the consecrated ground. His vision cleared immediately and he was met by the sight of charred red carpeting and smouldering pews. 

No Uriel. No Aziraphale. He couldn’t feel an angelic vessel in all of London. Hell, even Belphagor had vanished from his spot on the sidewalk. 

“Fuck,” he breathed as he began to tap dance in spot. Then louder, towards the altar, so if She was listening She would be sure to hear. “FUCK. REALLY?!”    
  
He fled the sacred ground only to fall to his knees out on the sidewalk. He wanted to scream but humans were already staring at him with concern and he just couldn’t deal with that right now. Instead he forced himself to breathe and think it through.    
  
Alright. So. Okay. Uriel had showed up for a chat with his angel. One of them got their hackles up and began putting on a full Wrath of God display. Probably Uriel. He just couldn’t picture Aziraphale...okay. Maybe he could picture it a little bit. The man was feisty and if the threat was just right maybe,  **MAYBE** , he’d call on the big guns. 

One of them went off and...then what? Teleportation? That seemed the most likely thing. Changing the battle venue seemed strange, though, if they were ready to go at it. 

Unless one knew a demon was just sauntering up the path to his destruction. 

Fuck. 

Aziraphale had saved his useless arse at the very last minute. Damn angel. 

He was going to kiss him senseless soon as he figured out where they went. 

Getting to his feet with a groan he fixed his glasses, ran a hand through his hair, snapped his fingers, and looked down the street. He waited. 

He didn’t often let the Bentley drive around all willy nilly. He had watched a hilarious movie not so long ago where a car did just so and got up to all kinds of mischief. Best avoid that. What was it called again…?

As the Bentley screeched into view he remembered.  _ “Christine!” _ He said aloud, startling a passer by. “Gotta show angel that one.” He hobbled to the driver side door with a pained grunt. Stupid burning feet. “Maybe not. He’d probably never ride with me again.”

On that note he took control and peeled away from the curb. 

He was going to need to go into The Office.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everything is fine.


	5. The Tower

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The sun was out and the beach was calling me today. Here's a few pages, though, just in case. A bit better proofread than usual to make up for the shortness.   
> You ever start to write a light actiony story with romantic elements and end up writing the apocalypse? Just me? Probably not just me.

Aziraphale wasn’t sure when he lost consciousness but the sky was dark by the time he stirred and the ground beneath him wet. He remembered he had been attempting to teleport himself and Uriel as far from people and Crowley as possible, only to have control of the transportation wrested from him by Uriel somewhere around Eastern Europe. After that it had all became a rather confused blur. He supposed, it could have been hours or minutes since they tumbled from the church. It could still be noon in London, for all he knew. 

To his credit, he didn’t groan as he turned from his paining stomach to his back, no matter how much he wanted to. If Uriel was still about, watching him, he didn’t want to give them more of an upper hand then they already had. This place was quiet and foreboding but also, unquestionably, holy ground. Ancient holy ground if the thrum in his corporeal bones were anything to go by. They may have already had the greater advantage.

Above was a high ceiling, lined with bas reliefs that he couldn’t make sense of from his current distance, and a single round window. Beyond that were uncountable stars. There had to be no artificial light for miles in order to get that kind of cosmic view from the earth. 

For a moment all felt peaceful. Ancient blessings coursing through his veins, stars Crowley had a hand in making above, cool air on his face...his eyes felt heavy. He could sleep. 

Then they hummed. “You’ve been impaled.”

“What was that?” He asked, searching for Uriel in the shadows that hung heavy about him in this great hall. It was dreadfully hard to focus. 

“My sword. You were impaled.” 

That didn’t make sense. He wasn’t in any kind of serious pain. Yet, when he looked down his body, he found that his typically pale clothing was sporting an alarmingly large spot of wet darkness. “Oh dear,” he murmured numbly. “It appears you’re right.”

He let his head fall back to the ground and his eyes drift back to the high window, to the stars above. He could heal this. The fact that he hadn’t been discorporated meant he could fix his flesh. Yet he was finding it hard to summon the energy….

“You have gray in your wings,” Uriel noted clinically from wherever they were. “The flaming sword found purchase not only in your body.”

Oh. He really was about to be discorporated, then. What a disappointment. Would he still need to fill out paperwork? Would he be issued a new body? Probably not. The minute they saw the gray he’d probably be locked away until they figured out just what to do with him or the Almighty Herself cast him out. 

That is, if he even survived with his soul intact. The fact that he couldn’t heal himself wasn’t a good sign. Perhaps the flames were eating away his entire celestial being as he lay there. If these were his final moments they were certainly lackluster.

Best ask the important question before all became dark without end. 

“...did I save him?” He asked the darkness, eyes never leaving the stars above.

Silence. Then, after a time, another voice answered. The demon Belphagor. “Just a moment too late. I guess all that Light was just a bit too much for him. Wasn’t quick, either. Long scream. Your name on his lips.”

He let out a shuddery breath. The demon answered, not Uriel. “...Uriel? Is that true?”

“He entered the church before you teleported me.” The answer was readily given. 

“...oh.” Aziraphale wasn’t sure where the truth was. All he could feel was devastation at the possibility. It was getting all too confusing. He was cold. Stars above...stars….

Warmth spread through him, from his wound outwards. He felt intense pain for a moment and it drew a sharp breath from him. Soon there was an ache. After that, nothing. 

He had been healed. 

“What was the point of that?” Belphagor asked without venom, a genuine curiosity lacing his words. “Your lot tried to burn him with HellFire. Why heal him now?”

Uriel came into view, blocking the stars, their dark skin luminesed by the gold that streaked their face. “The end is coming. If he is not worthy of the heavenly host he’ll be purged with the rest. The demon Crowley will perish and, if Aziraphale survives, he’ll come back. He must.”

Alertness was returning to him. Crowley was still alive then. Thank God. In this he found the strength he needed and he forced himself to sit up, to take stock of his surroundings. He knew this place, he realized after a moment. The top and center of an ancient tower, built in dedication, then hidden away. “Babel?” He whispered the word and stumbled to his feet, as if this perspective could make the fact any less true. “Goodness. I thought...well...it’s been so long-!”

“Interesting, is it not?” Uriel turned their back to him and walked a short distance away. “The Lord ordered it hidden. She enjoyed the effort the humans made. Yet they were not allowed to keep it for their own good.”

“She truly works in mysterious ways,” he humored as his mind raced now that it seemed to be working again. Babel. What was the importance here? It had to be more than a convenient hide away. The blessings here were so ancient and well worn that Belphagor was able to exist without much discomfort and the site so holy and well hidden that if Gabriel ever did try to seek Uriel out he’d struggle to find them. There was something else, he was sure. 

“She does. I believe the fact that she left this untouched is vitally important. It was left in case all else failed.” Uriel walked quietly about, hands folded in front of them. “Humans left the Garden. Propagated. Were flooded. Propagated again. Then built this. From here all were spread to the four corners of the earth.”

“Not all,” Aziraphale forced a smile. “There are other people in the world that have never had an ancestor in Babel.”

“It matters not. From here I have begun it all. The holy flame shall spread to all corners of the earth. It has already started. The heat is rising. Next the holy water shall flow through all rivers. The souls of the truly good and blessed will rise to the Host and join the ranks. The evil will be smited, providing none to the armies of hell. Then we will descend and destroy all abhoreation.”

They smiled a small smile. “I will, no doubt, get a commendation to go along with my reprimand.”

Aziraphale was momentarily speechless. He could only gape at how simple this plan was. From this point one could truly spread the divine to all of the earth, just as God at spread humans out across all of it. He stammered. “This is madness, Uriel. There was one Great Plan and it was thwarted. To...to come up with this on the hope that it will be part of the ineffable one-!”

“Is my coming to this conclusion not part of the plan? Is not the fact that I am here proof it is to be?” They cut in gracefully, looking at him with dark, inscrutable eyes. “If you believe it is not meant to be then strike me down. It should be allowed.”

Aziraphale wanted to scream in frustration. Lunacy. A paradox of logic he could barely even fathom. He took a step forward, ready to reason further. They had to see it. He just needed to find the right words-!

Belphagor was on him before he got a second step in, all tentacles, suckers, and rotten egg stench. A horrible parody of a cephlapod. He could barely breathe through the smell, let alone the tightness of its binding. Apparently it couldn’t be bothered with a human form at present. 

“Now, now. I ain’t letting you take that swing.” It spoke smoothly, everywhere at once, unconcerned by anything happening around it. 

“You stupid creature!” Aziraphale found himself squirming uselessly, distressed and totally indignant. When had everything gone so mad?! “You’ll be destroyed as well!” 

“Oh the things we do,” Belphagor sighed happily, as if it were indulging a harmless whim. Then laughingly: “Besides, I haven’t had this much fun in years! Eternity is so boring once you get down to brass tacks, you know?”

Aziraphale didn’t know. He couldn’t recall a time when he wasn’t at least enjoying some aspect of life. Even in the darkest nights there was an assurance there would be a brighter dawn if he just continued to be kind and patiently waited. The closest he ever came to despair was the apocalypse and even that had a happy ending. 

Uriel regarded him with empty, dark eyes. His worth was being considered. “Belphagor? Make sure he has a good dream when you are finished with him. Give him that mercy.”

The grip tightened with excitement. Aziraphale nearly gagged. “I can do that. Just so we’re clear, I can do anything?”

“Yes. He had already mottled his wings. I see no need to treat him as part of the host.” Uriel turned on their heels, giving the matter no more thought. “I must go unlock another seal. Such tiresome work...but all will soon be rewarded.”

Aziraphale began to call to them, desperate to try again, but one of those sickly appendages wrapped tightly about his throat. “Now, now Zira.” Ugh. ‘Zira’. Really now. He had a name, thank you very much! “It won’t be that bad. I just have questions...and I want some answers. You seem like a talker.”

Another squeeze. His vision swam. “We’re going to be best friends.”


	6. Date Crasher

The looks Crowley received as he casually rode the escalator down into The Office made him wish he had done this weeks ago. Shock was the most common expression that painted his fellow demons faces as they realized that  **_the_ ** Crowley, who had just recently not only skirted Hells punishment but humiliated all involved as well, was just casually strolling through the front entrance as if he were filing an annual report. Curiosity was also common as Crowley currently had a rather sleek, leather duffle bag slung over his shoulder.    
  
Then there was hatred. Pure unbridled for this one that lived above and flaunted about like a peacock. Wearing sunglasses even among his own kind, looking sleek and stellar, the one who consorted with an angel. Disgusting. Vile. 

Crowley smirked cheekily at them as he passed, tipping his head as if he were greeting them on a Monday morning after a long vacation. He could out bastard them all. 

Most parted around him like was putting off a particularly toxic aura. Perhaps he was. He was extremely upset, afterall. No use in reigning it in to pacify those that would put a knife between his wings if given half a chance. 

He smiled, broad and cocky, as he approached reception. Oh. This will put a bright spot in an otherwise craptastic day. “Duke Hastur!” He bowed intentionally steeply, sweeping his hand out dramatically, the other staying planted on his bag. “Fancy seeing you on reception. Can I ask for a tea? Coffee?”   
  
The demon looked at him with unbridled disgust and hatred, the toad on his head puffing up to half its normal size. “What do you think you’re doing here? We put a notice on all the doors saying you weren’t allowed.”   
  
“Really? Must have missed them.” He did not, in fact, miss them. Disregarded, more like. This was hell and he was a demon. Did they honestly expect him to follow  _ rules? _ Especially after every else that happened? Not bloody likely. “Listen, I need to speak to Lord Beelzebub. Important business. Hell’s best interest, etcetera, etcetera.”   
  
Hastur’s onyx eyes were practically glowing with malice. “You have no right to be talking about Hell’s best interest you-you-you-” there was a moment as he struggled for a vile enough insult- “angel sympathiser.”

Talk about missing the mark. Crowley grinned. “I’ll get you a book of insults. We’ll get you there.”   
  
The toad croaked in a particularly foul way. “Lord Beelzebub will not see you. She will not see anyone. She’s in a meeting.”

“She now, is it?” Crowley nodded. Alright. Good to know. The Effort was a bit baffling but whatever. If that’s where Lord Beelzebub was gravitating towards at present he’d go with it. “Anyways, I don’t have time to wait so if you don’t mind-”   
  
He moved to bypass the ancient reception desk only for Hastur to snag his arm at the elbow. “You’ll go no further.”

Crowley’s smirk dropped away. Time for his game face. “You know. I didn’t come down unprepared. I’m not daft.” He patted his bag, fingers moving for the zipper. “Would you like to see?  _ Ligur _ would have loved this trick.”

Hastur glowered at him, unblinkingly, seeing himself reflected in those dark glasses and unable to read past them. Crowley didn’t flinch away. No stammering and wild movements to indicate he was anything other than deadly serious and very prepared. An iron clad bluff if it even was one. 

The grip was released with a noise quite similar to snarl from the toad. Crowley tipped his head. “Good job. Lord Beelzebub is going to love you for this. Trust me.”    
  
Before the duke of hell could have any second thoughts on the matter the serpent slipped on through, heading towards the office he usually tried his best to avoid. He didn’t bother to use the door knob, thinking even that too much of a give away of his intrusion, and instead willing it open with a deft snap of his fingers.    
  
Previously when he entered this office it was quite trying for him. He wasn’t a fan of filth but Lord Beelzebub had that in spades, a feeding ground for their swarm. To say it was usually maggoty with flies was to be taken literally except it was usually maggoty with maggots as well. This time it was surprisingly clear of putrid air and black clouds of insects.

What it wasn’t clear of was a much worse, singular, infestation: Archangels. 

Gabriel was sat in a pristine wing back chair that was so white it might as well have been made of literal cloud stuff. No doubt miracled from Upstairs to avoid him having to sit on anything remotely demon related. In her usually place at the other side of the desk say Beelzebub, suspiciously free of rotting lesions, and somehow managing to look ashamed, surprised, and furious at the same time. 

Both held a glass of...something. Not wine. It was glowing too much for wine.

Crowley just couldn’t help the grin that split his face as he stepped into that suspiciously tidy office and let the door swing shut behind him. 

Gabriel stood, straightening the lines of his suit as he went. “That was a very-”   
  
“-progressive meeting. Yes. I agree.” Beelzebub stood as well, hands clasped behind her back. “Now get out of here you-”   
  
“-creature of beauty and light?” Gabriel cut in helpfully.

“I was going to say colossal waste of-”    
  


Crowley held up a hand. “No, no, no. This is great. I’m getting two birds with one stone.”

Beelzebubs swarm rose like a cloud from her desk drawers. “You cannot come in here and-”   
  
“I promisssse I’ll be short.” He hissed, the venom that had been threatening to bubble up breaking to the surface. “I know how annoying it can be to have time with your angel sssstolen.”    
  
Lord and Archangel winced as one and began to protest, the former looking like she was going to launch over the desk with her swarm and eat Crowley where he stood. He stood his ground, not daring to show a moment of weakness.    
  
“Aziraphale has gone,” he spat at the both of them, glaring at each of them in turn. “Minutes after I had a conversation with a  _ very _ corporeal Belphagor on a London street. Someone lit up the church Aziraphale entered with  **_holy fucking fire_ ** . Now the two of you are here having a drink. I have questionsssss.”

“You always did,” Gabriel commented smugly, arching an eyebrow as if this would put Crowley in his place. 

It did not. In fact, quite the opposite effect was had. A rage coursed through the demon that he fully, nearly joyously, embraced and he let hellfire course through his veins, tasted ash on his tongue, felt it leap to his fingers. “Firsssst quessstion: Where isss Uriel? Why haven’t they been recalled?” 

Gabriel barely took a step back opting to fold his hands before him with angelic patience and lifted his chin at the impertinence of it all. “They haven’t come back. Uriel has been in Heaven for many years so they’ve earned-”

Alright, so he was going to be fed bullshit. He turned his sheltered eyes to Beelzebub and gave his bag a pat. “I came here prepared to deal with you. Answer and I won’t take my surprise out. Belphagor said he’s gone freelance yet he was given body: why?”   
  
Lord Beelzebub glanced to the bag and back to Crowley, measuring her response. “He has pull. He asked for a body and I gave him one. He didn’t go rogue until after. We need a better approval system for these-”    
  
“No bureaucrassscy. Next quessstion: How would I find either of them?” He glanced between the two and was met with stubborn silence. 

It was about this point he let his secret weapon loose. With a snap of his fingers the duffle bag fell away like a curtain, leaving him holding a very fine supersoaker. “Do you know what thisss is? A water gun. I shelled out actual, real world money for thisss. Thirty pounds. Highway robbery if you ask me but one can’t argue with just how much holy water can be poured in here-”

Gabriel scoffed, looking over the gun with a critical eye. “Aziraphale isn’t allowed to have holy water any longer.”    
  
“Do you want to know just how long he and I have been bosom buddies?” Crowley shouldered his childrens weapon with ease, careful to not melt it with his flame. “Millenia. That’s a lot of smuggled holy water. Gallons and gallons of it. A nuclear stockpile!”    
  
Beelzebubs flies were still as stone, her eyes boring holes into him. “Can you tell if he’s lying?” The question wasn’t meant for him.   
  
Gabriel was still examining the weapon with distant curiosity. “Of course he’s lying. He’s a demon. I don’t know what about, though. Could be about the holy water, could be he has another deception waiting in the wings.”    
  
Good old angelic caution, a boon to any less-than-well meaning demon. 

Beelzebub was fuming with rage and uncertainty. “...I can’t locate Belphagor. He outranks me despite the fact he does nothing at all around here. Lucifer is probably the only one that would be able to find him with ease.”   
  
Crowley readily accepted this answer, if only because Lord Beelzebub was loathe to admit anything about those of higher rank. Someone hadn’t climbed the company ladder as they hoped. He allowed flames to flare and turned his gaze to Gabriel.   
  
“What?” The angel shrugged nonchalantly. “You think I feel threatened? You’re a demon. A worm. Something to be ground under-”   
  
The din of buzzing that started behind him brought his virtol to a halt. Beelzebub never did take insult lightly. Crowley smirked.    
  
“...well. I don’t know. Okay? I don’t. They keep getting their memo’s, though. Their having them forwarded to packing depot for personal delivery. It’s all out sourced so-”   
It was something. A start. A delivery meant an address. “Where’s the depot?” He seethed, flames getting higher.    
  
Gabriel smiled tightly.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Crowley took a big gulp of fresh air after he left the bowel of the office, intentionally oblivious to the queer looks of the humans as he swaggered to his Bentley with a super soaker slung over his shoulder and a bit of smoke curling from beneath his collar. He’d need to change. He smelled entirely too much like wrath and brimstone for his comfort at the moment.    
  
He paused a moment, dumping his guns water tank into a storm drain. No use risking damage to the interior of his car. Mildew was a bitch to get out of carpeting.    
  
It was only once he was behind the wheel, gun deposited in the back seat, that he let all his muscles uncoil. That had gone far better than he expected. He hadn’t been sure that the holy water bluff would go over as well with Lord Beelzebub as it had with Hastur but having it go even  _ better _ was the kind of power trip he’d be reliving for decades. It certainly made him feel a tad more optimistic. 

Still no sign of Aziraphale. He couldn’t feel him anywhere in London. So he was really going to have to mount a rescue mission. It was a good thing he had some practice in the area of rescuing his angel otherwise he might have been a bit lost at where to start.

This time it would start with a packing slip. Easy enough. He had the depots address and it wasn’t too far out of London. Perhaps Uriel and his angel were still somewhere in the United Kingdom? He doubted it. The way Gabriel smiled made it seem like it would be harder. 

Gabriel. Beelzebub. What had that been about? Drinking ethereal wine together like it was a thing. When coupled with Belphagor and Uriel’s team up an alarming picture of demonic-angelic relations was being painted. The hipster in him wanted to accuse them all of copying him but he quickly realized it wasn’t the case.    
  
There was no love here. Just...alliances. He loved his angel. None of them could compare.   
  
Speaking of….   
  
He turned the ignition and screeched away from the curb, destination already in mind.    
  
He’d have his angel back soon. 

  
Everything was fine.   


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ya'll know the drill. No betas. Kudos are nice and comments better. 
> 
> None of you are going to like what comes next.


	7. The Damned Confessional

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We go dark here folks. I think I'll try to get another chapter out to wash the taste away.

Aziraphale was worried that waking up in strange places to strange, uncomfortable, sensations was going to become a habit he had no choice but to adopt. This current stirring was certainly the worst yet despite the fact the he had woken up stabbed the last time. It was as if the universe was trying to outdo itself. 

This time he was in pain from the get go. His hands were bound before him by just about the roughest cord of rope he had ever had the displeasure of being tied up by. The loop expertly continued around his knees and ankles. Still, he could deal with such minor pain. What he could not tolerate were the way his wings were spread, tied to pegs on the wall behind him. He could barely move from the kneeling position he was in without there being a persistent tug at his shoulder blades.  
  
Worst yet, he seemed unable to fold them out of existence. He tried a miracle. Nothing. He was stuck.   
  
Oh bother. Oh dear. _Oh fuck!_   
  
Panic welled up in his chest. In his long life he had found himself tied up an embarrassing amount of times, usually after a misunderstanding.  Wanting crepes during a revolution, being accused of being a witch, being mistaken for someone with a great amount of material wealth...but these times had never involved his wings. No one but himself and Crowley had ever touched his wings.  
  
It was a violation that spoke volumes to him. He had no control here. He was at the mercy of the merciless. 

Panic was threatening to evolve in hysteria. He couldn’t breathe. Discorporation was one thing but...but with greying feathers in his wings this could end in...in….   
  
“You’re awake!” Belphagor strode in, human and greasy. A wave of its hand and there were torches. Aziraphale had been moved from the vast hall with the forgiving stars above. This room was just big enough for outstretched wings and Belphagors incessant pacing. A makeshift dungeon fitting of the Pit. 

Aziraphale felt his panic die as he looked at the self satisfied stride the demon had. He was soft but he wasn’t weak. He’d give this beast no quarter. 

A chair was summoned next, plush and mustard yellow. Tacky. Belphagor sank into it with a contented sigh and studied the angel with a coy, plotting smirk. Finally it shifted, leaning forward a bit. “You know, Urine wouldn’t give me your file. Not at first. I was going to destroy Crawly and have a good long nap to reward myself. Then there they were, after the same thing. Their reasoning was holier than thou, as ya might expect. ‘Aziraphale passed through hell fire and is thus absolved by the Almighty. Crowley no doubt used demon trickery to escape his punishment.’”

Belphagor laughed, exposing yellow teeth. “Never once did they consider that Crawly making it out was _ someones _ -” it gave a vague wave of its hand to the ceiling- “divine will. Funny, angels. They always think they have some great purpose but everyone else are just flying by the seat of their pants.”   
  
Aziraphale said nothing. He’d give this beast nothing. No matter how he burned to talk back. 

Belphagor was undeterred. “They came around, though. Somewhere around Crawlys dream about the Fall. You wrestling that great big ol’ snake left an impact that I don’t think they understood. Scared ‘em, I think, how willing ya were to just jump in.  _ That’s _ when I got your file.”   
  
A snap of its stubby fingers and a pristine, white folder appeared. It was startlingly thick. Aziraphale found himself wondering just how thick others angels files were and whether this was a bad sign. 

Belphagor was happy to answer. “Thicker than most. On our side Crawly’s is about the same width. His list all the strangely good things he’s done during temptations and the like but were passable for the greater evil. Yours list all the bad things you’ve done but for the greater good.”   
  
It flipped through with delight. “I’ve read it a few times now and I keep getting new perspectives on ya, Zira. No wonder you’ve got some dark in your wings. You walk a nice line, don’t ya?”   
  
Don’t say anything. Don’t defend, don’t agree. Silence. Silence was his ally. 

“Not going to talk, hm? Your file says you’re a talker...so this performance is for me, huh?” Belphagor grinned at him, continuing to flip through the pages. “Ya know the bathtub dream? That was a rush job. Had to take a bit of my own and Crawly’s sloth to make it work. It was honestly surprising how easily you slipped into it. I think Urine was disappointed.”

The demon continued to browse the file as its foot extended and caught the ropes binding Aziraphale’s wrists. With a small motion it pulled, forcing the angel forward, his wings pulling against the ropes.    
  
Aziraphale suppressed a pained gasp. That was more agonizing than he had expected.    
  
“Would ya like to go back to the tub, Zira? Drink some wine and soak all the badness out of ya?” Belphagor purred, glancing to him a moment before tugging again, harder. “What am I saying. Ya can’t soak badness out. It would be a Fall. Might have some respect for ya if ya fell.”   
  
Another tug, sharper. Aziraphale couldn’t hold back the whimper that bubbled up in response to the visceral, nerve searing pain. The demon grinned broader than any human face should allow.

Then it dropped its foot and went back to reading, as if it had been doing nothing at all. Aziraphale took a moment to collect himself but still refused to say anything. He had to work out an escape. If he couldn’t miracle his way out he’d have to do it the human way and employ ingenuity.    
  
That meant patience and observation. He was very good at least one of these things. 

After a time the demon let out a low whistle and ripped a paper from the file. “Tell me, Zira, have you ever killed someone?”   
  
The question was so unexpected that he answered before he could help himself. “I don’t make a habit of it.”   
  
“But you have, haven’t you?” The demon looked over the paper curiously. “Crusades. Were you in Jerusalem or part of the army?”    
  
Aziraphale suddenly felt very cold. “...I...was only observing. It was all the same God. I didn’t have orders to interfere on either side.”    
  
“Who did you kill, Zira?” The demon was leering, delighting in its line of questioning. Aziraphale felt pulled in, as if the answers were being drawn out despite himself yet he knew no occult force was at work. This was a damned confessional.    
  
“A soldier. I certainly didn’t mean too but...he had already killed the children and their mother was screaming as he dragged her down. I simply meant to knock him out but...but I was high up! The stone was heavy. I didn’t think-” He had to stop himself but the words just kept coming. “I reported it. I was scolded then pat on the back as if I’d done something good...but….”   
  
“You wanted to save both yet one was sacrificed. ” The smile was gone, replaced by a nod that mocked sympathy. It leaned forward and began to undo his bow tie with ease. Something in Aziraphale’s stomach dropped with the action, a part of his armor was being stripped away. “Life isn’t fair at times. Do you think you and Crawly will both get out of this? Without sacrifice?”   
  
The question gave him whiplash. Sacrifice…something preached by angels and rarely ever practiced. Aziraphale was willing to sacrifice quite a lot to save the world when it came down to brass tacks...and perhaps even more to save Crowley. He’d been ready kill a boy that was kind and loving. Yet he never had to. Everything had worked out. He was clever. Crowley was clever. Together they were  _ very _ clever. Hell fire, holy water...sacrifice foregone. 

Belphgor stood, file tucked beneath its arm, and stuffed the bow tie into its jackets pocket before moving on and examining his bound wings as one would might do a fine painting. “Ya’ve got more gray than you did a few hours ago. It’s curious. Can’t say I’ve seen anything like it before. Usually a Fall is something violent, sudden. A drop from the ledge with a sudden stop. It must be nice, to Fall so gracefully. Like tumbling into a lovers arms.”   
  
It grabbed a handful and pulled them out, stealing away the angels breath with the sudden pain. “What a nice Fall.” More feathers pulled,white along with gray, scattering on the ground. “So pretty and graceful.” He couldn’t control his voice any longer, yelping with every pull. “Soft and sweet.”    
  
It smiled at him and Aziraphale could only look back. He hoped he was glaring. It smiled broader and pulled again. “So, so pure. So, so unfair. So, so unjust.”   
  
More feathers falling to the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit weird to ask for kudos or comments after that but here we are. Again, I think I'll aim for another chapter. Something lighter.


	8. Interlude: Delivery Man

A regular parcel depot stood on a regular street in a regular little town. It had been in operation for a little more than a few decades and had a reputation as being efficient and dedicated in its deliveries with a rating of four out of five stars on Yelp. It would have been a full golden, five stars if not for the fact that customer service aspect was severely lacking.

When Crowley entered the main office there was a queue. Humans of all shapes and sizes were standing miserably, pinned between velvet ropes, waiting for their turn to approach the teenager that sat behind a sheet of glass at the counter. He had been standing for exactly thirty seconds when he realized a few things in quick succession.

One, the queue was the queue to get a number to be seen by someone else.

Two, it was a Sunday afternoon and packed.

Three, the number displayed in bright red digital was currently firmly planted at ‘42’ and the person at the front of the line up had just been handed a ticket proudly declaring them as number 98. 

Four, and this was the most important realization, he had invented the ticket queue system and boy oh boy did he hate his penchant for self sabotage. 

He tapped his foot, looked at his overly large watch, around at the misery that had made his superiors so happy once upon a time, and then back at his watch. That’s when the finally realization struck him like a bolt from the heavens.

Five, he was a fucking demon. 

No sooner did have this realization then he began studying the sprinkler system that twisted at perfect angles around the waiting room. The pipe vanished through a retrofitted hole in the wall and back behind reception. Then he was studying the humans. All of them were dressed for the unseasonably hot weather. Quite a few women were in white. 

Perfect. 

He yawned, made a production of stretching out wide, and snapped his fingers. The sprinklers hissed to life and chaos descended on the waiting room. First to go was the blasted queue machine with it exploding into sparks and producing a frightful electric pop. People ran and slipped around him, women tried to cover themselves, children wailed-

Not a bad job. He wasn’t a fan of getting wet but-hey-desperate times. 

He strode casually through the door to the reception area, the teenager having vacated with the rest, and into the back rooms, undeterred. He supposed he could have turned the sprinklers off but, really, it was quite hot and the longer they were on the longer he had time to browse. 

It didn’t take long for him to find the heavenly memo. He could spot the wax seals and pretentious golden ink from a mile away in the dark. A glance at the forwarding address had him cursing in earnest. The middle of nowhere, somewhere between Turkey and Syria. It wasn’t even a proper street address just ‘Post box on the edge’ and a rough set of coordinates. 

It was the best he had, though, and he was going to cling to it like glue. 

He was ready to ditch when he noticed something that gave him pause. There had been a time when he and his angel exchanged letters on a semi regular basis, usually when one had gone straight across the world on some mission. He knew Aziraphales practiced script anywhere. There it was on a Return form that was hastily attached to an increasingly soaked cardboard box. 

Normally he’d ponder the wisdom of having the instruments with which to summon the Four Horseman just sitting about on the counter like a carton of eggs but, as it turned out, he found himself pondering the sword that was thrown behind everything like a toy. 

Said sword was vibrating, threatening to burst into flames the closer he got, probably sensing exactly what he was and ready to jump to duty. Crowley hissed at it. “Now, now. That’s not very nice. I think your master has need of you. Would you like to go?”

Talking to a bloody sword was a decidedly Aziraphale thing to do. This was his sword though so...maybe…?

The sword seemed to calm for him, an air of weariness remaining around it. He did not want to touch that thing. 

A pack of bubble wrap and a hefty amount of packing paper later he sauntered out of the flooding depot, wrapped sword slung over his shoulder like an umbrella. 

Time for a delivery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I told ya'll I'd do it. Can't send you off with so much sad. Have a (teensy weensy) BAMF.


	9. Bouquet

“You know,” drawled Belphagor as it gathered nice, long, white primaries from the damp floor, “I used to be a creator. You know.  _ Up There. _ Made all kinds of pretty shit. Flowers, mostly. Crawly was out there making fuckin’ nebula’s and crap...and I was sitting on a cloud making flowers.”   
  
It laid the feathers out in an artful cluster on a miracled table before returning to scoop up some downy gray. “Pink wild roses, violets, babies breath, carnations, daisies, dandelions...all day just making flowers. I used to make bouquets with them. Hand them off to the All Mighty herself and she’d laugh like a mother doting on her child.”

The grey were added to the white. Then it picked up the feather that started this little project. A sleek, exceptionally handsome, Tal feather. Black as coal. It stroked it gently, revenently, before adding it to the bundle and gathering them all together in a bouquet.    
  
It turned to its angel. They had gone quite quiet. It was wasn’t even sure if he was listening anymore. He was proving to be made of stern stuff which delighted him. The softness of those curls, the roundness in his cheeks, the blue of his eyes all spoke of weakness...but it had yet to see any. This one was resolute.   
  
A black feather was a symbol of victory that Belphagor cherished. It would keep it as a trophy if it didn’t believe it could be put to better use elsewhere.    
  
It took the tartan bow tie it had stuffed in its pocket and approached the angel. A snap of the fingers and the ropes about their wrists fell away, earning a startle from them. Ah. So he was still present!

The half finished feather bouquet was placed before him, along with the tie. “You seem a helpful sort. Tie that like you usually would around the quills, yeh?”   
  
There was a long pause...then surprisingly steady hands extended and began to tie in a practiced motion. Belphagor was impressed.    
  
“No wonder Crawly likes ya.Ya got balls, Zira!” It praised enthusiastically. “I think, next, I’m gunna put ya through your paces. Show ya what a demon with no soft underbelly can do.”

Those hands didn’t quake...but there was a slight pause before the bow was tenderly knotted, the fingers lingering there. Belphagor felt an envious pang somewhere inside it that it didn’t have the ability to reflect on. It didn’t want to.    
  
Disturbed, it went about unbuttoning that blood stained white coat and tearing it off. “Gotta gift wrap it.” It specifically chose the heavily stained side of the fabric. “I’m debating leaving a note. Perhaps telling him that your dead. That would be easy though, right? His file says that he thought ya were dead before and just went to drink himself silly and wait to die himself. You’d think a demon would be able to handle grief better. We know it intimately, after all.”    
  
Nothing. No words. Those pretty hands folded neatly against the fabric of his dirty white pants. Entirely too prim. 

Belphagor was seized by the urge to snatch one and bite the fingers off one by one and add them to the gift. It resisted. There would be time.    
  
Instead it took one of those hands gently, kissing the top of it, and freed it of the enticing, golden pinky ring. It burned terribly. Ancient. Made of mana and heaven. The angel probably had it from the moment he fledged into existence. How odd, to be given such a material object from the Beginning.    
  
The angel gasped as he realized his loss and finally looked up, lost and wide eyed. They had probably never removed it in all their time alive. Perhaps they never even questioned its presence. Perhaps it was as much a part of him as wings and halos.    
  
How very, very odd. 

Its fingers were beginning to ignite under the extended contact so it hastily tossed the ring on the table and held the bouquet aloft, admiring its handiwork. “Perhaps I’ll write a letter declaring you Fallen and detail all the delicious things I’ve been doing and  _ will _ do. I’ll promise to have you all cleaned up by the time he gets here so you can have one last grand fuck before we all perish. Or maybe I’ll promise to make you so twisted and unrecognizable he’ll walk right into the Holy Flame on his own.”   
  
Oh if looks could smite! Those blue eyes had such fire in them! Fear, worry, pain...but fight! There was so much fight! So much fight the demon reckoned the angel didn’t even realize that’s what it was.    
  
It was drooling, the thick strands of saliva hanging from its mouth and soaking its human form. It was true to itself and bent to run its tongue along those pretty curls. The angel didn’t shudder but it did make a noise of disgust.    
  
The small victories were something to be treasured as well. Besides, it felt inspired by the quiet rebellion on full display! Curious about what the angel would do if given a chance.    
  
A small step, then.    
  
It miracled some gilded paper and a fine fountain pen, placing them in front of the angel.    
  
“Write anything to him. Anything at all. I’ll bring it.”   
There was a pause before those steady hands extended, shook slightly for a reason that Belphagor couldn’t understand, before grasping the pen, and began to write. 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Crowley needed supplies and a long road.    
  
Supplies were easy. He already had his supersoaker and, with the addition of a few bottles of butane, duct tape, and his snake emblazoned Zippo lighter, he’d made it into something that would make MacGuyver proud. He’d even fashioned a strap for it out of his snake skin belt.    
  
The only other thing he saw fit to grab was a bag for that Holy Sword. It kept flaring up against the Bentleys upholstery and he just couldn’t abide by that. The bubble wrap was doing little against flame. 

The long road was easy as well. Tadfield had an air base. It was in use, sure, but not really for planes. The runway would be plenty long enough assuming some soldiers didn’t get lucky and took the tires out from beneath him.

(They wouldn’t be lucky. He’d see to it.)

He was well on his way to Tadfield when he felt the miracle. For the briefest moment something light and happy shone in him. Aziraphale was fine. He didn’t need to go anywhere! Then the infernal element came in like a sulfurous aftertaste and the light inside him went out once more.    
  
There was a package on his passenger seat, neatly wrapped in a dirty cloth. This was going to be something meant to torture him but...he needed to see. He pulled over and reached with shaking hands.

He nearly recoiled when he realized the dirt was dried blood and the cloth had formerly been beige and professionally tailored. Aziraphale’s coat. The blood was a few hours old...he’d been injured soon after they last saw each other. An anguished noise was allowed to pass his clenched lips.    
  
His angel was hurt.    
  
It only went downhill from there. The bouquet would have been artful if not for the fact it was made from his angels feathers. He could taste his scent on his forked tongue: clean air, sunshine, something sweet and savory. The black feather was undoubtedly his as well. Shiny and new. Perhaps better formed than his own simply because it belonged to his angel.   
  
Oh  _ Someone _ ! Was he still his angel?!   
  
Everything was tied together with a tartan bow tie. How lovely. He wanted to be sick.    
  
Then there was the envelope. Crowley stared at it for a long time, mentally preparing himself. Belphagor was a demon. A pitiless one. Whatever was written in here would need to be taken with several grains of salt and a swig tequila. He needed to not believe a word.    
  
All his preparation came crashing down when it was Aziraphale’s beautiful script on the page and not Belphagor’s serial killer scrawl.    
  
**_“Dearest,_ **

**_I beg you to forgive me. I seem to have been captured and, while I know you are probably beside yourself with worry, I do not believe this will be something I can escape from. Would you be a dear?”_ **

Crowley snorted despite himself. If only his angel knew what he’d done already. 

**_“They tried to tell me you were dead and gone. That Uriel’s fire burned you and spread your ashes to all corners of the earth. Nonsensical babbling. Do they not realize your love for me is towering? That mine for you is holy and beyond all language?”_ ** **_  
_ **   
A tad poetic. Perhaps a bit too much, actually, given the situation. Aziraphale loved his written word but could be blunt when needed. He felt he was missing something. 

**_“Do you remember Ur? I think it was there we saw fit to share mead and, if I’m to be honest in what might be some of my final words, it was the first time I wondered what it would taste like from your lips.”_** ** _  
_**  
That brought him up short. He was certain he and Aziraphael were never in Ur together. Hell, he was certain he’d never been to Iraq in his life, previous borders and names or no.  
  
...but Iraq and Syria were close to each other. So close that it couldn’t be ignored.   
  
**_“I hope I’ll get just one more chance to just that._** ** _  
_** ** _  
_** ** _All my Love,_** ** _  
_** ** _  
_** ** _Aziraphale.”_**   
  
Crowley sat back, rereading the letter. Then again. It took a moment to clear himself of longing and worry long enough for him to actually think. His angel was a clever bastard and wouldn’t let an opportunity for a good old fashioned secret message pass him by. He mumbled to himself, reading it out loud.

_ "Nonsensical babbling,” _ he repeated, something about the sentence fragment stuck out to him. Aziraphale surely wouldn’t have considered news of his death nonsense or not worth listening too. Another reference to language. An event that didn’t occur in a place he’d never been….

  
Wait a tick. No. Surely not. They couldn’t be....!   
  
He read once again. “...ah fucking hell.” There was an irresistible urge to slam his forehead into the steering wheel that he gave into immediately.    
  
_ “Babel _ . I got to try to find a vanished bloody tower in the middle of a huge as all hell desert.”    
  
God really did hate him. 

He tossed the letter and envelope only to be startled as a gold ring came loose from within and skittered across the passenger seat. For a moment he could only stare at the glittering gold, tracing the edges with his eyes. He knew this ring well. It had been on the hand that cupped his cheek only the morning before and left a lingering, sunburn sensation behind that he never dared tell Aziraphale about. 

He picked it up and found the burn much milder than usual. It was pleasant, if anything.    
  
It didn’t fit his pinky, his fingers were longer and thinner than his angels. It did however fit the ring finger of his left hand. A delirious laugh passed from him. Of course it would fit that one out of all ten. 

It seemed the safest place more the precious jewelry so he left it. He’d give it back as soon as he saw him right after he was done beating arses and kissing the bloody angel senseless. 

With no more thought on the matter he peeled away from the shoulder and continued his journey to Tadfield.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I researched as best I was able. I had so many tabs open I crashed my lap top. I'm always open to knew information though. :P


	10. There's a snake in this one

When you can snap your fingers and open nearly any door secured areas became more of a suggestion than a rule. Crowley usually favored a more diplomatic, sneaky, silver tongued way of breaking and entering but time was not on his side. The sun was quickly sinking behind the horizon, the terrible heat did not go down with it, and he was starting to become deeply concerned that maybe the heat had less to do with the sun and more to do with something else. 

The gate opened. He drove past without even looking at the angry army human that had started screaming at his back bumper. 

Aziraphale better be out there somewhere, giving as good as he got. A glance was spared to the discarded flower bouquet and its bloody wrapping. Dear Somebody, he hoped he was  _ able  _ to give as good as he got. 

The sirens were in full effect by the time he peeled onto the air strip. Soldiers were being mobilized. Daft. What was he going to do in a bloody Bentley? Bomb them?    
  
Still, he didn’t fancy having his car  _ too _ shot up so he got down the business, staring down the long run way and focusing with all his might.  _ Desert. Syria. Iraq. Iran. Turkey. Ur. Mesopotamia. Babel.  _ _   
_   
The ring on his finger was still warm. He spared it a brief, unthinking kiss and revved the engine.    
  
Then he was off, just as the shooting started.    
  
Pedal to the metal, he quickly climbed over a hundred kilometers. More. He needed more. He put all his will into it.    
  
__ Desert. Syria. Iraq. Iran. Turkey. Ur. Mesopotamia. Babel.    
  


One hundred and twenty-five. Still not enough. He white knuckled the steering wheel, his leg began to ache from the force he was putting on to the gas. 

_ Desert. Syria. Iraq. Iran. Turkey. Ur. Mesopotamia. Babel.  _   
  


One hundred and fifty. One hundred and sixty. One hundred and seventy. He was fast running out of runway. A crop of trees were fast approaching.

_ Desert. Syria. Iraq. Iran. Turkey. Ur. Mesopotamia. Babel.  _   
  
A glance to the ring.

  
_ Aziraphale! _   
  
By the time the soldiers caught up they had fully expected to find a fiery crash. Certainly, they could see flames from a distance. Yet when they arrived they only found the tell tale burned rubber of a fast moving car, the end of the tread mark laced with flame, and no car.    
  
It was as if it had vanished into thin air. 

The sun bowed beneath the horizon. 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Aziraphale didn’t know how he knew it was dawn but he did. There were no windows in this room. Certainly no fresh, morning air. He just _knew._   
  
He also knew that Crowley was coming. 

He also, also knew that there was a good chance he’d be discorporated, Fallen, or just fully nonexistent by the time the demon arrived if he didn’t do _ something.  _

His hands were left unbound but that didn’t help him much with Belphagor strutting about, monologuing like a Bond villain, and driving him to irritation. If there was more black in his wings it had little to do with pain or torture and more to do with the fact the this creature was igniting a raw fury in him.    
  
It just wouldn’t shut its bloody mouth. 

“Ya got tell me, Zira. What do you see in Crawley?” It was asking at present, making a show of preparing several different serrated knives. “Is it the hair? He has very nice hair. Is it the subservience? He likes to pretend but he was never really able to fully shake the whole ‘bow down and worship’ thing. Oh! I bet he fucks like a stallion, is that it?”

It took every ounce of grace within him to not start yelling for it to just shut up.    
  
“C’mon, ya can tell me.” It grinned at him with those revolting teeth. “The end of the world could happen any minute now. Urine is efficient, ya know.”

Fine. He’d talk. If only to keep  _ it _ from talking. “...he is sweet and soft. Fire and ice. Very well balanced and attentive.” His voice was hoarse, foreign in his own ears, but it was something other than Belphagor so he’d endure it. 

The demon was unimpressed. “Sounds boring as all high heaven.”    
  
“It isn’t.” Aziraphale smiled despite himself, letting his own memories wrap him up like a blanket. “He’s different than he seems. Confident the one moment only to flounder the moment he realizes his efforts are about to bring him delight. He’s splendid.” 

Strangely, Belphagor seemed intrigued. “Angels like that kind of thing?”   
  
“ _ I _ do,” Aziraphale hummed, tilting his head slightly. “However, we’ve only had a little over a week to really experiment.”   
  
“Glad to have brought you together,” Belphagor tipped its head graciously. Aziraphale wished a bolt would break from on high and strike it down.    
  
It was back to playing with its knives. “I don’t think Urine would ever go in for sweet talk. Their too ‘boss’, y’know?” It hummed cheerily and picked particularly dangerous looking blade. “...this one should do it. Now...would it be better to cut the coracoid, humerus, or ulna?”   
  
It turned to smile at him. Aziraphale found that his words were stalled in his throat. His left wing was already a mangled, patchy mess. No doubt the creature was going to remove his undamaged one. It pulled instinctually at the ropes in a vain effort to hide itself.   
  
The demon seized on this weakness, striding forward and gripping his wing mercilessly. Aziraphale’s blood ran cold and he breathed deeply, preparing himself for the pain-   
  
“Belphagor.” It was Uriel’s voice, coming from somewhere far away. There was a note of heavy wariness present that Aziraphale was sure hadn’t been there before. They were tired. “I require your assistance.”   
  
The knife never made it back to the table and instead clattered to the ground at the demon’s feet. Alarm painted those strange features. Concern.    
  
“Be right there, Urine. Just-Just-” Aziraphale never got here what was ‘just’ as the demon vanished the next instant leaving him in blissful silence. He nearly sobbed in relief.   
  
Instead he flexed his fingers...and reached for the abandoned knife. 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was dawn and a desert horned viper had not yet buried herself. She wanted to get a little bit of sun on her scales before she settled in for the day and had found the perfect rock to bask on, next to a post with a metal box at the top. There were no birds in sight and she was safe.    
  


Then a car fell from the sky.    
  
Not on top of her, thank goodness, close enough that she not only got quite the show but a fright as well. Cars, she knew, generally didn’t fall from the sky and this one seemed especially ill equipped as a shiny metal thing flew off as it impacted. It kept going, engine roaring, kicking up dust and dirt all around as it tried to find purchase in the loose ground beneath it. Finally it sputtered, gave one last might roar, and went silent.    
  
Huh. She’d have to tell her next clutch about that one.    
  
No sooner than she had settled back down, ready to continue her morning bask then there came a noise from inside the bellow dust cloud. Perhaps the great beast wasn’t dead. Human machines were funny like that.    
  
She didn’t expect a  _ celebrity _ to emerge from the dust.    
  
It was Him. It was  **THE** snake. Sure, he was wearing a human costume, but she knew.    
  
He was coming her way. She brought herself up to striking position. One could never be too careful, after all, and there were many stories about him. The human costume could mean he wasn’t of their type anymore. That he shed his last skin and was now firmly entrenched in a whole other world.    
  
He said nothing to her for a moment and instead began studying the wooden post and its mysterious metal box. A moment later he hissed in agitation.    
  
She hissed back.    
  
That gained his notice. The biggest, blackest, shiniest eyes she had ever seen were looking down on her. She prepared to strike.  **THE** snake or not, she was no one’s prey!   
  
He backed off and bent before her, hissing and chuffing with his strange human mouth. “Is there a tower around here? Big? Ancient? Possibly toppled by God?”    
  
She admitted, she didn’t know. Then, seeing how agitated her answer made him, she hastily continued.

  
She had many friends and family. They could help, sir?    
  
This answer seemed to satisfy him. “Spread the word. I’m looking for Babel.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SNEK.


	11. The Horizon

“Dull. He was going to...to...maim me with a dull knife!” Aziraphale griped and grunted, sawing away at the last of his bindings. He had to complain lest fear and dread overcame him. With a shake it came free and he stretched it...but found he could not fold it away. “Blast.”   
  
For a moment he considered the knife. Dull as it was it still could be a weapon and he was most likely going to need one before all was over. Yet it felt wrong in his hand.It was a wicked thing that had no place with him. He was sure that even holding it was darkening his mood further.    
  
He let it drop to the ground with a small glatter that echoed about the chamber. Immediately he felt lighter. Cursed object.    
  
Aziraphale took a moment to examine his partially plucked wing. It was bloodied and the flesh raw, hurting to even look at. Belphagor hadn’t been gentle, nor had he expected him to be. It was his nature to be cruel, after all, and for that Aziraphale found it in his heart to understand. Perhaps not  _ forgive _ , but understand. Not all had the benefit of reflection and freedom that Crowley had for thousands of years.    
  
...it hurt though. Understanding didn’t make that go away nor did it really quench his anger or fear. There was a distinct, unangelic, sense of failure at not being able to extend his compassion enough to rid himself of such emotions.   
  
There were more black feathers in wing. They weren’t even pretending to be slate gray anymore. It should have bothered him more. Perhaps trauma and a desire to simply survive had over ridden his need for grace. Perhaps he was already too far gone and he could no longer care.    
  
He pushed the thought from his mind, tucked his damaged wing in with a pained moan, and made his way to the empty, dark archway that led into the makeshift dungeon. 

The air out in the wide, pitch black hallway was still and silent as a tomb. The likes of King or Lovecraft would have taken inspiration from such a dismal, lifeless place and the ancient power it hummed with. Aziraphale took no such inspiration. He wasn’t built to have any of his own, only to give it away.    
  
With no choice left he began to move, stumbling along on his aching legs, feeling the wall for guidance. He needed to be careful. The floor could be collapsed in the darkness or any manner of trap could be hidden. His progress was painfully slow.    
  
After an unknowable amount of time in dark and quiet there was a wisp of fresh air. He clung to it greedily, letting it revitalize him and remind him of better days. There was a stairwell and he followed it upwards, chasing the ghost of air and, with it, freedom. 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When Crowley arose from Hell to Eden he was surprised to find creatures like himself. Some small, some unimaginably large, in all sorts of colors, shapes, and configurations. Snakes or Serpents is what Adam had called them and Crowley thought it was as fitting a name as any. There were no negative connotations to being a snake then. They simply were another of God’s creatures.    
  
Then Crowley went and made biblical history. 

They had become maligned, a symbol of evil. Killed on sight and driven out of their habitats. It was so unfair that he spent many of his younger years angsting over it. Thankfully different cultures had different symbols and interpretations so, at least, it was not a universal thing. Then there were others who saw how good they were at managing rodents or how their venoms could be used in medicine. History changed things.    
  
The first time he saw a snake in a pet shop he had been secretly thrilled. Then baffled. The snake, born and raised in captivity, knew who he was on sight and didn’t question it. Wild snakes he had put off as his name being passed down through folklore...yet it just seemed they all knew. As if God herself had made the decision that he would never be able to forget what he was, even if he forsaked a human form and went feral. 

Jokes on her. She had given him an  _ army.  _

“Humans can’t see it, huh?” He hummed at one of the snakes at his heel. “Not toppled. Just hidden. Angels and demons must be able to see it then.”   
  
The snake hissed to agree and was echoed by the growing number that were following him through the scorching desert. He had tried to tell them hours ago that the heat was unnatural, not good for basking, certainly not good to be slithering about in, but they were determined to keep up.There must have been forty of them, if not more, as it was becoming kind of hard to parse the squirming bodies from each other. Not to mention that more kept coming as word spread.    
  
It hadn’t taken long to find a serpent that knew what he was looking for. There was one that was especially long lived that had laid several clutches there, protected it by its strange aura. It was a popular spot for breeding, as no one ever went there.   
  
Distantly, he wondered how God felt about the tower being used as a sex pit. She probably didn’t care but the thought certainly made  _ him _ laugh. 

He needed a good laugh.

The snakes were chattering with each other as if they were having the first ever reptilian family reunion. They never got together unless it was fight, feed on each other, or mate. To come together and swap stories about the desert,  **THE** snake, their different species, and Babel was a novelty they would probably never again experience. 

Crowley couldn’t help but to feel proud. In this hour he was a bridge builder. He could almost here Aziraphale gushing over it already.

  
He was considering transforming and joining them for a time when the Tower was suddenly just...there. In the distance. It popped in without warning, whatever magic that kept it hidden either breaking under Blephagor’s and Uriels hand or breached by the small force. He couldn’t make out the details of it but it was there.  _ He was close. _   
  
There was an urge to let his wings out and soar over the remaining distance. Aziraphale was close. He could feel him again in that spot in his chest where he could always feel him. 

...but he could also feel power building with the unnatural heat. It was uncomfortable, bordering on aching. Holiest of the Holy. No doubt they’d see him coming from this distance if he took to the air and smite him while he was still a speck on the horizon.    
  
No. He’d need to remain grounded.    
  
His entourage were writhing, whispering and hissing. This was new. It had never felt like this before. It feels bad. Was this the end time?

“Possibly,” he murmured to them...and continued onwards. The sword in its bag was humming against his hip. The supersoaker sweltering on his back. “You can leave now, if you want. I can’t protect any of you. You know the stories. Not made for that kind of thing.”    
  
Yes. They knew the stories. They didn’t expect protection. They expected a new tale. Something for future clutches. Something for long hot days under cool sand.   
  
“You’ll get one, then,” he sighed, a bit pained by the stubbornness and touched by their willingness to follow. “No use to go off and hide in the stars when your whole world is here, right?”   
  
They didn’t understand the reference. They didn’t know the story behind the words. Could he tell them? They appreciated the sentiment though. Yes. Fighting was better than hiding.    
  
Crowley laughed in a way he’d never laugh in front of humans and pocketed his dark glasses, exposing glinting yellow eyes to his stubborn followers.    
  
Snakes were truly unique amongst Gods creatures. 

He wondered if he should be flattered.

He was.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The window was high up. Aziraphale wasn’t sure what he had expected, honestly. It was a tower dedicated to God.  _ Of course the bloody window would be high up!  _

Still...it was an exit. He wouldn’t be able to fly on his damaged wing but if grit his teeth and waited for a good updraft he could glide to the ground. It would hurt, no doubt, but he was fairly confident he could bare it. The landing would be rough but the sand below seemed the dusty sort and should be enough….

The breeze was hot. Hotter than any he had ever known. It burned at his corporeal form, threatening to blister it. If he wasn’t an angel it would have been untenable to survive long against such vicious heat. It was like the draft off a bonfire.    
  
...Crowley was on his way. He knew it without proof. Crowley was coming and he’d walk into this Blessed heat. There was a chance that Holy Fire would be licking the sands and turning them to glass by the time he arrived.    
  
Then it would spread about the globe, carried on the winds, igniting all who were not perfect in their faith and banishing them from any sort of existence.    
  
Above him Uriel was building in power again. It was slow...but it  _ felt _ final. There would be no time for him to escape and come back with aid if she continued like this. It would all be over. Yet...what could he do? He was one injured angel with fading grace against another of greater power to him. 

  
His wings twitched. A new black feather. He didn’t even need to look.    
  
...one angel...just one….   
  
Above him there was a wane in power...then another spike.    
  
More heat. Deadly and choking.    
  
Oh hell. If he was damned let him be damned while doing the right thing.    
  
He turned from the window and continued his ascent of the stairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Getting closer.


	12. The Fall

“The world can end tomorrow, Urine. You keep up like this and then only one destroyed will be you.” The voice was yet faint but the fact the Aziraphale could hear it at all meant he was getting closer to the top. Thank goodness. There were far too many stairs. “C’mon. Let’s nap. I know it ain’t your thing but it’s better than burn-”

“Do you not think I know what you are doing?” Uriel’s voice, higher than normal. PItched with impatience and suspicion. “You are trying to stop me. You are waiting for the Lords of Hell or my brethren to come and stop this.”

“That doesn’t make sense. I’m all for this. Burn me up baby! Hello destructor, I’m here for the destroying!” Belphagor was gleeful. Even at this distance Aziraphale could tell the truth when he heard it. This demon was a mad creature, ready to perish just because it was bored with life. 

“SILENCE!” Uriel didn’t need to shout the word. They were using their celestial voice, existing somewhere between the physical and the ethereal. “You are a demon! You are not on my ally! You will not stop me!” 

“Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey,” Belphagors voice was strangely soothing...and louder. He was getting closer. “I wasn’t always this, remember? You and I? We were together at the start. My beautiful, perfect-”

“STOP.”

“-absolutely stunning, Uriel. My dearest one. The only fond memory of a world I can barely recall. When I slept I’d dream of you. I’ll gladly let you destroy me if only it will make you-”

“STOP!” The world quaked, the ancient architecture crumbling and knocking Aziraphale to his knees. The stairs held. Above him he could feel a fury born from pain and...something new. Something he had never known before. “IT WILL BE DONE BY DUSK. EVEN IF IT MEANS A COMPLETE END.”

Belphagor shouted something, perhaps it wasn’t even words. Maybe it was more of a scream. “I HAD HOPED TO SPARE THOSE ON HIGH...BUT I WILL NOT BE STOPPED. GLORY BE.”

The infernal energy that announced Belphagor's presence dwindled to nearly nothing. 

“GLORY BE!”

Somehow, Aziraphale found the energy in him to run.   
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
The tower loomed closer. The heat was unbearable. Crowley could barely walk any longer, the blessedness of this place becoming too much for him to handle. It was only his own stubbornness and refusal to acknowledge his weakness that allowed him to press on this far. This could be his limit. 

His army had faltered. Their numbers were dwindling as dehydration and exhaustion overtook them one by one. Yet there were still those that remained at his heel. He took another step, unwilling to disappoint them, needing to reach his angel.

When the sand rose up to meet him he realized his legs had given out. That’s okay. He could slither if...if only he could find it in him to transform. It seemed beyond him. This was it, huh? His angel was so close he could taste him on his forked tongue and he couldn’t even gather the power in him to go the extra mile.

Pathetic. 

His wallowing was interrupted when the top of the tower exploded and tremors rocked the world beneath him. He and his army were showered with debris.

Oh. So it really was the end of the world. 

The golden ring he wore was brought to his lips for lingering kiss.

It was lonely at the end.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Aziraphale stumbled into heat and light. For a moment he was blinded by the infernal resplendence that was being generated, overwhelmed by this totally new kind of energy. 

When his sight cleared he really wished it hadn’t. 

Belphagor was a crumpled heap of non-human, octopus creature on the ground, unmoving. The walls of the tower had been blown away, leaving only the flooring and exposing the ancient interior to the blistering heat. 

Then there was Uriel. Or what had been Uriel, their true form morphed nearly beyond recognition. Their four wings were burning, the eyes that lined them gone leaving only visceral holes of blackness. Golden ichor flowed from the orifices of their face in terrible, beautiful rivulets. Their many arms reached to the sky...and the flame began to burn at even him. 

Uncreation. It was a word that sprang to his mind unbidden but it fit. Uriel was beyond even angelic comprehension.  
They meant to destroy it all. Earth, heaven, hell. All of it to be wiped out in a fit of madness. 

Aziraphale felt distinctly underqualified to handle any of this...but he was the only one present. He had to try something. He straightened up, suppressed a wince as his damaged wing caught the heat, and smiled politely. 

“Pardon me, Uriel.” His tone was light despite its uncertain waiver. 

All those empty sockets turned to him. He didn’t recoil. 

“Ah. Yes. Fascinating look you’ve developed. I do believe that’s what they’d call an ‘Eldritch horror’ among humans. It-uhm-suits you?”

The creature-that-once-was-Uriel stepped forward on impossibly long, slender legs. “Aziraphale. You still wear that human costume. Show me your true self.”

Aziraphale kept smiling, though he doubted it reached his eyes. “I’d really prefer to not. I quite like this form. It’s served me very well. Perhaps you could return to yours so we could converse-”

“No. I will not. The end is nigh.” They towered over him, face devoid of all features. “I will be unmade as I am.”

“Now, now. I’m sure the Lord would be quite tetchy if you continued this way. It’s hard work, making a universe! Surely you remember.” Reasoning was all he had in the face of the impossible. It wasn’t a very effective weapon. 

“The Almighty will not forgive this. I will accept what comes. Perhaps the next time it will be made better.” 

Aziraphale winced. “Uriel, please! All of it?! That’s...that’s madness! This isn’t what you set out to do!” If he could get them dial it back just a little then, perhaps, he could get a message to Gabriel or Michael. Surely they would have the ability to do something! 

“This is ineffable.” 

Oh dear. He was really beginning to dislike that word. “Uriel-!”

One of those many, slender arms was reaching for him. “Lend me your grace, Aziraphale. It will be of no use to you soon.”

“Ah...well, I would! I usually have plenty to spare but...but lately ...” He shower his wing and its black feathers. “I seem to be running low.”

The creature before him tilted it faceless head. “...I understand it now. This strange Fall. I believe the fault lies with myself. Destruction of all required grace. I did not know it would take from our kind. You are the only one on earth aside from myself.” 

It took a moment for the words to register. Gradually, his polite smile changed into something relieved and joyous. “I’m not Falling. I’m not being abandoned.”

“Do not rejoice. The End is nigh.”

He barely heard their thunderous voice. “It wasn’t Crowley. It wasn’t my love or my vices. It wasn’t my own weaknesses!” 

“I need what remains, Aziraphale.” That hand reached again. “Give it to me. You delay the inevitable.”

Principality Aziraphale, Guardian of the Eastern Gate, straightened himself and spread his good wing as far as it would allow. “My dear, nothing is inevitable and nothing can be known until it is observed. I think I shall hold true to myself, if you please.”

The creature made a noise beyond comprehension and snatched him up like a doll. He didn’t flinch. “It’s still not too late for you to do the same. We are all from the same stock! We were all created to do good, spread Her word, and please Her as we saw fit! This doesn’t need to be the mark you leave!”

The creature was beyond words of any language. Its arm drew back. 

“We are who we choose to be, my dear!” His voice was steady as he felt. He knew the words. He just needed to say them and pray they understood him still. “That you have chosen to be this can be undone!” 

The former angel paused, regarding him with those infinite, empty sockets. 

Then he was being thrown off the side of Babel and into fire that was rising below. 

He didn’t scream.

Everything was going to be fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There may not be a full chapter until Monday. I have two interludes planned while I'm gone this weekend, however!


	13. Interlude: Heaven

Earth quakes, as the name suggests, tended to happen on earth. Even for those used to such phenomenon the earth suddenly deciding to move a whole bunch was a rather alarming ordeal. Earth quakes, as a rule, were rarely ever fun.

Heaven didn't have earth quakes. There was no earth below it, after all. It was a celestial, ethereal place made of star dust and God given power. Natural disasters just didn't happen in such a space. It wasn't a concern for any angel. 

Until it was.

It started slowly. Gabriel, sitting at his desk, watched with idle curiosity as his perfectly organized cup of fountain pens began to shimmy across the immaculately smooth wooden surface. Strange. Pen cups weren't supposed to move. It then occurred to him that other things were moving at well. The light fixture over head, the filing cabinets that held everyone's records, the inbox stacked to the brim with unanswered prayers that Sandalphon had yet to send off. All moving in the most erratic way.   
  
It got stronger, moving not only his desk but the chair he sat in. He leaped to his feet, frowning at the strange occurrence. Perhaps he should contact maintenance? Something was obviously going screwy.  
  
Then the screaming started and the realization struck him that this was no blip in the fabric of the cosmos. This was a **SITUATION.**

He calmly exited his office, hands clasped behind him as if he was simply going to take a stroll, in time to see Michael trotting at a good clip towards him. Angels of all shapes and classes were scattering in a blind panic as their eternal harmony was shattered, buffeting the other Archangel gracelessly. By the time she was before him she was quite cross. "We need discipline training. Look at the disgraceful way their conducting themselves."  
  
"I can't blame them," he looked about, frowning in confusion. "This is irregular, after all. So, what's up?"   
  
"Armageddon."  
  
Gabriel made no attempt to hide his grin. "Uriel did it then! Bit of a rough job but as long as it's getting started-"  
  
Michael shook her head. "This isn't what we wanted. There's a fire in the Great Hall and it isn't Hellish. It's...like nothing I've ever seen before."  
  
This was quite the statement to make. They were older than time and had seen everything there was to be seen in all the universe. They knew the face of God. Yet Michael was saying it and totally blowing Gabriel's mind. "Show me."  
  
It was only a snap of their fingers to get to the Hall. True to her word, there was fire burning away at the very fabric of heaven.   
  
Now, Gabriel had been in a managerial role for a long, long, _long_ time...but there are some roles that are built in to even celestial DNA. That may explain the thrill he experienced at seeing such unholy destruction being wrought and the ignition of a whole different kind of fire within the depth of his being.   
  
Within a moment his wings were spread in a way he hadn't done in thousands upon thousands of years. There was shield on his right arm, golden and bright as the sun, gifted from the Almighty herself and able to withstand all manner of destructive force. He was smiling. "Michael! Find the source of it! Check your back channels!"  
  
He stared down the flames, giggling giddily. "I'll hold the fort, as they say!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Told ya'll it would be short.


	14. Interlude: Hell

"It's all gone to shit, then." Lord Beelzebub sighed, frowning at the smoking ceiling. The magic and rock that contained Hell wasn't going to last long against whatever this was. "Has anyone summoned His Dark Majesty?"

Dagon stood at her side, sharp teeth clenched tightly, a clipboard tucked snugly beneath their arm. "I sent Hastur. He was screaming at the ceiling so much I simply had to get him out of here. Honestly, we're demons. You think he'd never seen a bit of fire before."

"It isn't fire." Lord Beelzebub flinched slightly as a bit of flame leaked through like water, dropping onto a demon who hadn't been lucky enough to find cover. "This isn't holy. I've no idea what this is."

Dagon looked at their clip board, waiting for words to fill in the blank page. None came. "Still no intel. This...this might be the end. We didn't even get to fight."

"If it's reaching here so easily it means it's scorching Heaven too. So...there's that." She wasn't pleased. Being trapped and watching doom ascend on you simply wasn't a good end. For millennia she had trained herself and her swarm for the day they fought in the next Great War and reclaimed their right to be. For millennia that other side did much of the same. What a waste of time. She hadn't even gotten to finish the mana that Gabriel had gifted. Such a shame, that. It had been a good vintage, scooped directly from the edge of time. She hadn't had a taste of that since her Fall. Then there was the archangel himself. An asshole but one that had been put into the same unenviable position after the first Armageddon failed and had been able to relate. They had bonded over failure and being so completely thwarted by _idiots_.

Oh, none of this sat well with her at all.   
  
"Right," she spoke suddenly startling the Lord of the Files. "Well. Why our Dark Master is powdering his nose we should give a good go at it, don't you think?"  
  
"There's no hope. We'll be destroyed," Dagon huffed grimly.   
  
"Yes. You're right...but sitting here seems hopeless as well. I bet that twat Gabriel is organizing something as we sit here waiting for destruction." She nodded, deciding with out evidence that this was most likely the case. Damn that bastard! Showing her up! "We simply cannot allow them to do better."  
  
All it took was a stretch of her arms to summon gossamer wings to her back. They roared like an engine as she took to the air, her swarm following. "Pass the word. Every demon is to get a bucket of water and, when out of buckets, the ones that remain get nails and hammers. We're fortifying the roof! When His Majesty rises up send Hastur to the surface. Let him scream as he's getting information for you!"

It was a plan...or a distraction from the inevitable. Either way she felt better having asserted control over the situation. 

Now, to stuff those cracks so full of bug ichor they didn't dare leak....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Regular chapter tomorrow!


	15. Exhale

There were cool bodies moving against his own, dragging him beneath the sand. These vipers were a species that burrowed against the heat, seeking shelter from the worst of it in the dark coolness of the underneath. Crowley wanted to tell them it was okay. He was a demon, not really a snake. It was okay to leave him there to meet his end head on.    
  
He found he couldn’t. He had dragged them all this distance, the least he could do was let them feel like they did something important before The End. 

He was grateful, nonetheless. He could feel his angel clear as a bell, high above him. Between his serpent entourage and the angels presence, dying didn’t feel so lonely.    
  


It took a moment to gather himself but he dared open his eyes against the strange flames and bizarre, warping light. Perhaps he could catch a glimpse of him. Maybe he was looking down at him from the top, wishing there was less distance between them.   
  
There was a shadow. Wings. Falling fast.  _ Down, down, down- _

Where the strength came from he didn’t know but it was there and he seized onto it with both hands, struggling to his feet. His wings, black as the smoke plumes all around him, were out before he was upright.    
  
He launched. 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was a very tall tower, Aziraphale observed as he fell. 

It felt like he had been plummeting forever, the wind whistling in his ears, tearing at his damaged wing. It was painful. It would have been frightening if he wasn’t so sure that all would be well. He had faith that it would be. Even if he died he refused to believe that God would allow all She created to be taken apart by one angel who had been lost to a fit of madness. 

Perhaps She’d descend from her hiding place personally and place a hand on one of Uriel’s shoulders. She would know the words to say to calm them, to heal their heart and make them see reason. Or perhaps She would be furious and Fell the archangel.

Perhaps there would be no divine gesture. His faith would not be rewarded. It was a terrible thought but one he accepted. She moves in mysterious ways. 

The ground must have been close. Any minute now there would be an impact. Would it kill him straight away? It surely would. He had lived through the thirties, through the great crash, and seen what falling from such a great height could do to a corporeal form. It probably wouldn’t even hurt.    
  
He remembered the stone he had carelessly thrown in the crusades, also dropped from a great height. It had killed that soldier instantly. Yes. The impact would get him.

Something  _ did _ impact him, but from the side, not the back as he expected. It wrapped around him so tightly it forced the air from his lungs. There was the tell tale flapping of wings to reduce the momentum, more coils around his body, and another jolt as they impacted with the sand, feet away from a tower of fire.    
  
He smiled. He had been right. Everything was going to be fine!

_ Crowley was here!  _

When the dust settled he found himself staring into wide, unblinking, yellow eyes framed by glossy black scales. A hand reached out to run his fingers over the snakes snout. “You cut it close, darling.”    
  
“I was busssy thinking I wasss dying,” the snake hissed back tenderly. The coils loosened, but he didn’t move away. “Pleassse tell me you didn’t jump exssspecting me to catch you.”   
  
“I was thrown, actually.” He caressed more scales lovingly, feeling like everything was right in the world even as the inferno soared ever higher. “Uriel was not very receptive to reasoning. I fear they’ve gone quite mad. They have taken all of Belphagor’s infernal energy and killed it.”   
  
“Doubt it.” He nuzzled into his neck, tongue flicking out slightly to take in his scent, attempting to blot out all the smoke and fire. He could taste blood. “...you’re hurt.”   
  
“Yes. I am.” Aziraphale closed his eyes a moment, relishing in the serpentine embrace. There was much to be done. They couldn’t afford much time. He had no plan but...laying here couldn’t possibly part of it. “...will you kiss me, my dear?”   
  
It was an indulgence. Perhaps his last.    
  
There were no longer coils about him. Instead there were arms and a nose nuzzling at his jaw. Lips met lips in something chaste but passionate and they held tightly to each other. As far as Ends went, this would have been a fine one. Not good...but fine.   
  
Except Aziraphale simply  _ couldn’t _ accept this was the end.    
  
He broke from him with one last gentling kiss to the corner of his demons mouth. “I need to get back up there.”   
“Like hell you do,” Crowley murmured against his lips, trying to capture him again. “Between the two of us we can get out of here. Let’s dance among the stars, angel.”   
  
“There won’t be any stars left soon, my dear.”   
  
“Soon..but not now. Just a few more hours. Or minutes. Or seconds.”    
  
“I must try again, Crowley.” No ‘my dear’. He couldn’t soften this. “Will you help?”   
  
Crowley stared at him for a long moment...then smirked. “Stubborn. Fine. Alright. Bloody...FINE.” He sat back, the moment broken, and stumbled to his feet before holding out a hand and pulling Aziraphale up as well.    
  
“Oh!” Aziraphale looked about him. “It appears we are surrounded by snakes?”   
  
“Yeh. It’s my entourage.” Crowley looked to them and glared. “Get lost. Thanks for the assist but move along. You're not getting to the top of that tower.”

The snakes seemed to disagree, hissing and spitting at the demon. Aziraphale chuckled fondly. So,  _ all _ snakes were terribly stubborn, not just his Crowley.

A bag was suddenly shoved into his hands and, instantly, he knew what was inside. He gaped at Crowley. “You’ve...you’ve just been carrying this around?!” He hastily unzipped it, holy flames leaping up the instant the bag was open. His sword felt more right in his hand than it ever had, as if they were finally on the same page about what its function should be.

  
“It wasn’t easy, believe me.” Crowley wrapped an arm tightly around him, standing at the side opposite his good wing. “On three, okay?”    
  
Aziraphale caught on quickly, tightened his grip on his weapon with on hand and Crowley were the other, and spread his good wing to its full span at the same time Crowley spread his. “One,” he breathed, eyes focused on the top of the tower.    
  
“Two,” Crowley bounced a bit on his feet, psyching himself up, gaze matching the angels.   
  
“Three!” They kicked up dust and parted smoke as they launched together, shooting upwards, wings beating in time with each other. It was as easy as breathing. Aziraphale mused that they’d have to try this again.

There  _ would _ be a again!

Up, up, up they rose until they over shot the top of the tower and were looking down upon the increasingly horrific form that had been Uriel. As far as they could see there was flame, glassing the entirety of the desert, rapidly spreading out towards the rest of the world, burning dark holes of nothingness into the very fabric of the universe. 

  
“Time to drop me, love,” Aziraphale spoke firmly, leaving no room for argument, and readied his sword. “Don’t worry. I’ve  _ some _ inkling how to use this.”   
  
“Better put some force behind it, then,” Crowley was grinning at him...and he found himself grinning back, nodding enthusiastically. Oh, how he loved this man! 

They turned midair, quick and violent, then again, building momentum. It was dizzying in a way the only trick flying could be. A wild dance that Aziraphale could have delighted in forever.    
  
When Crowley threw him down at the former angel he nearly gave the whole game away by hollering, thrilled by dramatics of it all. He managed to hold his tongue, focusing instead on taking a grand, downwards slash on the creature. He found purchase in their wing, taking it clean off before tumbling to the top of the tower, falling hard on his hip.    
  
They were screaming by the time he righted himself, their arms reaching out to him with fingers that were long and claw-like. 

It was then a very large snake dropped on them from the sky and began constricting as tightly as it could about the former angels faceless head and long neck. Crowley’s scales burned against them but he wasn’t letting go easily. Aziraphale could only watch as fangs were bared and he began to strike over and over. He got about four in, gouging away with a wild abandon that Azirphale doubted Crowley had ever allowed himself, before those many arms gripped him and threw him to the edge.    
  
There was a sword in the creatures hand, flaming brightly even as it threatened to burn away at its wielder. They rounded on the great snake, sword flashing through the air, seeking to make quick work of him.

Aziraphale was there before it was even a real threat. Sword held high, deflecting the rather sloppy downwards strike the ease of an angel who knew conflict and much preferred passive action. “I think not,” he huffed at Uriel, offended that they would even  _ dare _ try to strike down his lover before his very eyes.    
  
It shrieked and aimed a blow downwards again, with greater weight and even less technique, as if they could subdue him with force alone.    
  
_ Not bloody likely! _   
  
Crowley was up on two legs, rolling his shoulders to loosen up. “They really  _ have _ gone ‘round the bend, huh? Look at that!”    
  
“I told you! Did you think I was lying?” Aziraphale spoke through clenched teeth, deflecting another strike. Really, now. This was getting repetitive.    
  
“Exaggerating, more like.” There was a toy gun in his hands, that he was pumping furiously, building up pressure. For a moment the angel wondered if perhaps they were  _ all _ going ‘around the bend’...then the demon flicked open the lighter attached to the nozzle.    
  
Oh! Well. More fire it was, then.    
  
Crowley began to spray, coating the former angel with waves of liquid fire, grinning in that delirious way that was born from fear and knowledge that if he was going down he doing so in epic fashion. Aziraphale would have laughed at the absurdity of it all if wasn’t for the fact the Uriel was now reaching a level of noise that was near eardrum shattering.    
  
Uriel swiped outward with their remaining wings and impossibly long arms, knocking both angel and demon back. Around them there was nothing but fire. The sky was aflame, burning away like paper, leaving only the void.    
  
They pulled each other to their feet. “This is madness,” Crowley groaned through fangs. “There won’t be anything left.”    
  
Aziraphale was inclined to agree. “There must be something,” he said instead, hopeful to the last. He looked around desperately for something -anything!- that could lend them aid. Flame, smoke, the end, Belphagor….   
  
Belphagor!   
  
Uriel’s own flaming sword was burning them.   
  
Oh! OH!   
  
“I can do this!” He was beaming. “I just...oh! I just need to burn it out! She took infernal power from Belphagor so...so now-! All I need to-! Yes! That will do it!”    
  
Crowley had a million questions, no doubt, but the angel had no time to entertain them so he soundly kissed him to stop them before they could start. Then again, more tenderly, just in case.    
  
Just in case….   
  
Charges were rarely a good idea but Aziraphale didn’t have time for nuance. He ran at former angel, all the while concentrating on  _ grace, grace, love, love, grace, grace. _ The sword was hot in his grasp, responding to all the raw holy energy he was dredging up from the very center of his being. He’d use up every last drop of himself if it was needed!

Crowley was shouting at his back but the words were lost. He couldn’t be dissuaded now.    
  
Besides, how often was it he who got to be the dashing hero? If he survived Crowley would fawn over him for eternity!    
  


He struck true, the sword sinking deeply into the impossible creature, all his grace and love with it. There was a beat of silence as all of time seemed to stand still. He could feel all those empty eye sockets staring down on him in unbridled horror.   
  
The seconds started again and the universe **_exhaled._**   
  
The wind was ancient and soothing as blown kiss. It bellowed from the tower, from the void, from all spaces both known and unknown and travelled to all four corners of the globe as it had back when God commanded much of the same. The fires blew out like so many snuffed matches and reality itself seemed to just..rise from the ashes, correcting itself. There was light and more light.  
  
Then silence.   
  
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Crowley wasn’t sure when he fell unconscious. He had been sprinting to catch up with his surprisingly fast angel, damn near screaming for him to just STOP when...well, it all got jumbled. 

He awoke on the sand, with no sign of Babel anywhere. The sun had set and above were billions of stars. He barely saw them. Where was-?!   
  
Aziraphale! The angel was laid out to the East, Uriel to the West. The latter looked fresh and new as the day they were created

Aziraphale, however, looked...looked….

  
He didn’t mean to miracle himself the distance but he did. Running just wouldn’t have been fast enough for him. He needed to be there _now._  
  
His angel was, thankfully, still alive. His corporeal form was a bit worse for wear but it would heal. His wings were gone. Still present in the ethereal but gone from the physical. Whisps the demon could barely perceive. His angel felt distinctly unangelic, like he had literally poured his heart out.   
  
“Aziraphale!” He gave the man a shake and gained no response. There was no movement behind those pretty eyelids, no twitch in his lips. Something cold was settling in the demons chest. “Angel! Come on now! Don’t make me worry! I hate worrying!”   
  
Nothing. An empty vessel.   
  
That cold spot bloomed, icing over his veins. No. He was still breathing. He...he wasn’t...he couldn’t be…!  
  
His world was crumbling. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t-  
  
He saw the flaming sword swinging down on him, clenched in Uriel’s fist. He hadn’t seen her get up. He barely registered the threat. Hell, he honestly didn’t even _care._   
  
The sword never found its mark. Belphagor was there, grappling the archangel, pulling them back. “Didn’t like that trick at all, Urine,” it was spitting, voice shattered. Heartbroken. Furious. “You used to be so kind. Used to be so _just._ That was a nasty, demonic thing ya did. Do you know what we do with nasty, demonic things, Urine?”   
  
Crowley only looked up from Aziraphale when he felt the hell fire start up. When Uriel began to scream in horror and pain. They were both ignited, but Belphagor wasn’t burning away. It was their flame after all. It met Crowley's eyes and grinned with sharp teeth. “Hey. Be a pal and tell all of them-” it gesticulated to the sky vaguely- “that Urine has perished. I’ll owe ya one. Many ones, even.”   
  
Crowley nodded mutely, his voice having fled him but still able to see a good deal when it was offered. He wasn’t even sure he could speak if he wanted to. He probably would have hissed and howled in pain and grief. Best to keep his mouth shut.   
  
Belphagor tipped his head in thanks, flared brighter, and allowed the earth to swallow him whole. The screams of the angel were gone, leaving only the hissing of the wastes.   
  
Crowley took his angels hand and laid back in the sand, looking up to the stars. The ring on his finger was still warm, the angels hand strangely cool.   
  
Perhaps...perhaps they both just needed a little nap. He _needed_ a nap. Aziraphale would be up before him. He always was. He wasn’t a big sleeper. They’d go get crepes in France or Curry in India. Then they’d go home and swap stories. All after his nap.  
  
Just a little nap.  
  
Then everything would be fine. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more to go. Thank you for sticking with. Writing action sucks but here we are.


	16. And it was as it was said

It was a bitterly cold afternoon in early December when a lightning bolt struck a Soho street, leaving behind an angel in a fancy suit. No one paid it any mind. Strange things happened all the time in Soho and all of it went in one ear and out the other. Best to mind their own business.    
  
Gabreil straightened his tie and smoothed the remaining static from his slate gray scarf. His hand was bandaged and snagged on the material but he was used to it by now. The burns didn’t want to go away, it seemed, and he was fine with that. It was proof of a battle he had fought valiantly so he’d display them when they were prettier. A trophy to his own efforts.    
  
A short distance away the ground split and a petite demon with a large presence ascended. She made no effort to fix anything but her sash. Gabriel fancied there were some new medals attached. Ah! So he wasn’t the only one who had done stupid, brave things!    
  
They met somewhere in the middle of the sidewalk outside of the bookshop. “Nice medals,” he complimented as he drew closer, perhaps a bit happier for his counterpart than he should have been.    
  
“Nice bandage,” she returned, looking at it curiously. “I have larvae that could speed that along, you know. They’ll eat away at the dead tissue.”   
  
“I’m getting used to it.” He shrugged dismissively. “Worst comes to worst I’ll have to have a nice pair of gloves tailored. I’m thinking silk.”   
  
“You want lambskin. Better texture for paperwork and writing,” she hummed thoughtfully and finally turned to the door. The sign sign indicated the shop was ‘Open’ but not for much longer if the messily scrawled hours of operation underneath was anything to go by. To the side there was another meticulously written paragraph indicating hours and a sign that read ‘Suspended until Further Notice!’ in red ink above it.    
  
Gabriel hummed at this but said nothing about how odd he found it. Instead, he stepped up and opened the door before bowing courteously and waving Lord Beelzebub through. She walked past with an annoyed huff and a pleased smirk.    
  
The inside was just as overstocked, unorganized, and bookish as ever. There were quite a few more humans than Gabriel had ever seen, some even sitting around a table reading and working away in notebooks. Students, he supposed. There were plants too. And one of those new fangled coffee makers that took those plastic cup things.    
  
It was the most change he had seen in the space since its opening.    
  
Beelzebub had no idea that things were different. She matched to the counter and slammed an impatient palm down on the small bell there, earning a glare from the students as the shrill noise broke the silence.    
  
“One bleedin’ second!” Was shouted from somewhere in the back. That was not Aziraphales voice.   
  
Gabriel barely had time to process this information before the Serpent of Eden emerged. He was wearing an apron splattered with paint, his hands equally stained with colour. His sunglasses were perched on his nose as always...and his annoyed expression became one of cold fury once he took stock of just who had arrived.   
  
There was no sign of an angel following.    
  
Crowley glanced at the humans at the table. “You need to go, kids. Important business, this. You’ll get free coffee next time, on my honor.”   
  
Gabriel held his tongue, wanting so badly to comment on the honor of a demon. It appeared the promise meant something to the humans, however, and they quickly began to pack up.    
  
Not another word was spoken until the door swung shut behind them and the sign flipped to ‘Closed’ all on its own.    
  
Crowley made a show of leaning against the counter, arms crossed over his chest. “So, finally decided to make an appearance. Took you long enough.”    
  
Gabriel glanced around again. He did not want to congratulate a demon. Especially not  _ this _ one. “Yes. Well. There was a lot of damage control to do above.” He gestured upwards. “It was a close call. It’s not often angels have to face their deaths what with the eternal life and stuff.”    
  
Lord Beelzebub nodded in agreeance. “We had to install a whole new ceiling and replace a lot of equipment. It’s been a nightmare.”    
  
Crowley hummed, clearly unimpressed and unsympathetic.   
  
Gabriel continued on. “Anyways, um, it was discussed between all of us that some...praise might be in order. A note from On High seems to indicate that Aziraphale and yourself might have saved our bacon.”   
  
“Dagon’s and Hasturs reports said the same. Said you killed a rogue angel.” She looked at Crowley with such intensity that Gabriel, briefly, wondered if he was missing some hidden message. The snake merely shrugged and looked elsewhere.   
  
“ Aziraphale saved us all. I was just along for the ride,” Crowley nodded, brimming with pride and...and sadness, Gabriel realized. Why was he sad?    
  
Once again, he looked around. “...um...I have a commendation and medal for Aziraphale. Also an apology. Is he-?”   
  
“He’s not here.” Crowley was suddenly busying himself with a stack of books the humans had left. “He can’t see you.”    
  
“Why not?” Gabriel took a step forward, frowning. “I’m his superior he has to-”   
  
“He has to do nothing!” Crowley hissed between fangs. “He has done enough. Leave whatever bureaucratic nonsense you have on the counter and I’m sure he’ll send you a nice note when he’s able.”   
  
“When he’s able?” Gabriel took another step, threateningly. That didn’t make sense. Why wouldn’t he be able too? He was an angel! All wounds would have healed by now if he hadn’t been discorporated! “Why isn’t he able?”    
  
Crowley gave a low, warning hiss and looked ready to throw one of the thick books gripped in his trembling hands at the archangel but a swarm of flies intercepted the motion before it could start, blocking them from each other’s sight.    
  
“Enough!” Beelzebub buzzed in annoyance. “We are not fighting right now. We are congratulating. Lucifer himself would like to extend a thank you and an invitation to his throne room.”   
  
“How kind,” snarled the snake.    
  
Gabriel all but threw the medal in its fancy velvet box on the counter. “When Aziraphale is ‘back in’ tell him he is welcome Home.”    
  
“He  _ is _ home,” murmured the demon. Gabriel took the high ground and chose to ignore it. _ As if  _ an angel could feel at home with that skulking about at their side!    
  


It appeared the conversation was over. Crowley had completely boxed himself off from demon lord and archangel alike and was now aggressively reshelving delicate tomes. 

Gabriel exchanged a look with Beelzebub as they backed out of the shop. There were no words needed.    
  
As an angel and a demon they knew A Wreck when they saw one. 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was quiet as always when Crowley entered his home. That was soon remedied with a snap of his fingers. The stereo sprang to life and began playing Bowie which suited him just fine. His coat was tossed on the rack and his shoes kicked off hastily before he began his ascent of the stairs, messenger bag tucked under his arm.    
  
“I’m home!” He called as he opened the bedroom door. “That twat Gabriel popped in today. Can you imagine? It’s been over a month! Beelzebub too! I think they have a thing going or they would if duty wasn’t a thing. You should have seen the way they kept looking at each other. Scandalous!”   
  
He wasn’t answered. He wasn’t expecting to be. That would be much too fortunate.    
  
Instead he continued to prattle as he opened his bag. He was becoming  _ alarmingly _ good at prattling on. “I moved on from water colours today. Started with oils. They take forever to dry, though, so I had to perform a minor miracle to be able to bring it back with me.”    
  
He produced a small canvas board from the bag and smiled at it. It was a painting of a nebula that didn’t really exist outside of the confines his mind. He had picked up the hobby fast and found he was quite good at it. A moment later it was hung alongside the growing gallery on the bedroom wall. Many water colour paintings were already there. Their bench in the park, his Bentley, a delicate, white feather next to a rough black one...he had been on a roll.   
  
He needed something to fill up his time. Running the shop simply wasn’t enough, even with the addition of humans. He doubted Aziraphale would mind.   
  
The angel was sleeping in his bed and had been for over a month. He showed no signs of waking or, even, signs of _ life _ . If it wasn’t for the warm breath that eased past slightly parted lips he could have been mistaken for a corpse.    
  
He wasn’t, though! He wasn’t. He’d be back. He just needed more time!   
  
Crowley would wait. In the meantime, he’d talk just in case his angel could hear him. Perhaps he was lost and needed a voice to guide him back. He didn’t fancy his voice as a beacon but...it was all he had, right?    
  
Returning to his bag he continued to ramble on. “There’s a medal back the shop for you. Apparently you’re welcome back to heaven when ever you want.” A book was pulled free. “Alright. So,  _ Hamlet _ is finally over so we’re doing  _ Midsummer _ next. No arguments! It’s my favorite and I’ve been working on the voices! You’ll love my Titania!”   
  
He smiled at the sleeping angel but it was weak, wobbly. It certainly didn’t reach his eyes.    
  
It only took a moment for him to settle next Aziraphale, a hand in white-blond curls, another keeping the pages of the book spread. “I’ll do it again, when you wake up. You can tease me properly then. Isn’t fun without you telling me how wrong or daft I am all the time.” 

Silence.    
  
The demon suppressed a heavy sigh. It was a terrible habit he’d quickly developed that he was trying to break just a quickly. 

A kiss was placed to those pretty curls...and he began to read as snow started outside.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was May by the time he decided his garden had been neglected long enough. He needed to start planting and grooming to allow new growth. Maybe he’d get a lounger and take Aziraphale outside from time to time for some sun. The bedroom was beginning to feel musty and the strong scent of paint from his numerous works were doing the space no favors.    
  
Once upon a time humans believed fresh air could cure all kinds of ailments. It was nonsense...but a good sort. It certainly helped brighten one’s spirits.    
  
Trowel in hand, he was on his knees in the dirt, digging out a spot for some Bleeding Hearts and pondering if Aziraphale would enjoy lilacs or lupins more when he felt a twinge of...something. Whatever it was quickly passed, though, and he continued his work. He had to keep focused. The shop would be open again on Monday which left him only two days to get his garden in order and purchase the lounger for his angel.    
  
Perhaps he’d swing by anyways and grab another book. He was becoming begrudgingly fond of the hobby and reading to Aziraphale made things feel less lonely. Maybe  _ Alice in Wonderland? Dracula? _ Hm...there was a lot to choose from.    
  
There was a soft noise of a foot hitting grass. Someone was in  _ his _ garden. He turned to hiss at the intruder, yellow eyes on full display, ready to give them the fright of their life.    
  
He instead he let out a strangled cry and allowed his fancy trowel to drop from his hand.    
  
Aziraphale was there. Standing on two legs, face turned to the sun in welcome, wings out and white as the clouds above.    
  
For a moment the demon could only stare. What else could he do? A vision of beauty and love had just stepped into his garden and he was completely enraptured. He didn’t even breathe for fear that the sight would blow away with a simple exhale, leaving him alone.   
  
Then blue eyes opened and met his own. A smile followed.   
  
“Darling!” Those lips were moving, speaking to him, but he couldn’t catch the meaning. He could only register the fact the his angel was talking to him. 

_ “Aziraphale…,” _ he breathed the name, as worshipful as a prayer, rising to his feet and scrubbing his dirt encrusted hands in his pants.    
  
That smile brightened. “I like your paintings. I knew you would be good at it!”   
  
The demon laughed brokenly, deliriously, as joy began to bubble up from some corner of his absent soul. He may have been tearing up. “I needed to do something for the boredom. It’s really quite dull when you’re not around.”   
  
There was a beat of silence as they stared at each other.   
  
Then they were wrapped in each others arms, embracing tightly, threatening to never let each other go and talking all at once.   
  
“My dear I’m so sorry-!”   
  
“You bloody idiot I thought-!”   
  
“I knew you’d try to talk me out of it so I couldn’t-!”   
  
“I’m so proud of you Aziraphale! Don’t ever do-!”   
  
“Is it really spring? She never said I was gone so long!”   
  
“She? As in  **SHE** ?!”   
  
There were kisses between the words, frantic and needy. Hands were pressing against clothing and bare skin, the need for more contact and reassurance too much to deny. 

  
“She sends her regards, my dear.”   
  
“Ngh. Not now. Can’t hear that right now.  _ Aziraphale, my angel! _ ”    
  
Crowley kissed him properly then, long and lingering, threatening to swallow him whole. His hands clutched at him in a way that must have been painful but the angel made no attempt to escape. Instead a hand answered by gripping red locks and pulling him in tighter.    
  
They were both breathless by the time they broke from one another. Crowley rested his forehead against the others. “I was ready to wait until the end of time. I knew you’d be back...but I didn’t  _ know _ , you know?”   
  
Aziraphale smiled gently, loosening his grip in his hair in favor of cupping his cheek. Crowley just about melted into the touch. “I do know. I truly am sorry, my love. I had no intention of leaving you...but things got away from me.”   
  
The demon turned his head to kiss that palm tenderly. “Tell me about it?”   
  
“In time,” the angel hummed, kissing the corner of his mouth. “It seems I have important work to do at the moment.”   
  
Crowley couldn’t hide the stricken look that painted his face. “You do?”    
  
“Oh yes, my dear.” His angel stroked his cheek soothingly, bringing him closer, speaking against his lips. “I need to reassure you that everything is fine now.”   
  
Except everything wasn’t just fine.   
  
**_Everything was fantastic._ **   


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WE'RE DONE.
> 
> Thank you all for your kindness. Putting up with my spelling mistakes and whims and whatever else. I hope the wrap up feels as good for you reading as it did for me writing. 
> 
> Again, I don't typically respond to comments but I adore each and every one. When I grew frustrated with my own writing they spurred me on! 
> 
> I love you all!

**Author's Note:**

> Karma for kudos and love for comments. I find it terribly hard to reply to comments but just know I read them all and scream over them.


End file.
